


Music that Would Flow over My Bitter-Tainted, Trembling Lips

by whispered_story



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Roofies, Stanford Era, Texting, au elements, sam and dean are stupidly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 05:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16675054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_story/pseuds/whispered_story
Summary: Sam hasn't heard from Dean in weeks - ever since he left for Stanford. Then he finds an envelope with a mixtape in his mailbox. A series of texts, phone calls and a couple more mixtapes follow, and Sam's plan to finally get over Dean comes crashing down.





	Music that Would Flow over My Bitter-Tainted, Trembling Lips

**Author's Note:**

> written for [SPN Reversebang](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/)
> 
> [Art](https://dollarformyname.livejournal.com/87609.html) by the amazingly talented [dollarformyname](dollarformyname.livejournal.com)! I had so much fun working with you; thank you for the awesome art and prompt ♥
> 
> Betaed by [gluedwithgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold) ♥
> 
> Title taken from Elizabeth Bishop's "I am in need of music".

Sam doesn't check his mailbox often. There's really nobody to send him anything, and it's a little depressing to feel that flash disappointed every time he opens the damn thing and finds it empty. Because each time Sam does check it, he can't help but get his hopes up that maybe. _Maybe_. He's not sure what exactly he's even hoping for—it's not like Dean is the kind of person who would sit down and write him a fucking letter or a cheesy postcard from some tourist trap.

But Sam still hopes for something. Because when it comes to Dean, he's a little pathetic. It's the same reason he always keeps his phone with him, checks it between classes and first thing when gets up in the morning and right before he goes to bed, too. Just in case.

He hasn't heard from Dean at all since the day Dean dropped him off at the bus station. Not one word, for over a month now. He texted Dean when he got to Palo Alto, to let him know he made it and send his new address. But Dean didn't reply and yet, here Sam is, clinging to a little bit of hope that maybe this time when he opens his mailbox things will be different.

And then, suddenly, there it is. A thick, padded manila envelope with Sam's name and the address written out in Dean's messy scrawl. The envelope is a little creased, the edges on one side bent, and Sam's heart is in his throat as he looks at it.

Sitting on his bed, Sam turns the envelope upside down and gives it a little shake. He has to laugh when a cassette tape slides out, labeled _Samantha's Mixtape._

"Fucker," he mutters.

"Dude, is that a cassette tape?" Brady asks, looking up from the book he's been reading.

"Uh-huh," Sam says.

"Who even listens to those anymore?"

Sam gives Brady a little grin and opens the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out an old walkman from the very back of it. Sam's had the thing for years and he hasn't had any use for it in a while, but it's one of those things he held onto anyway. Maybe because it used to be Dean's, before he passed it on to Sam, and it's one of the few gifts Sam ever got from him that he still has. All of his possessions fit into one duffle bag, but the walkman always made the cut whenever they moved on from a town.

Brady snorts and shakes his head—and Sam knows it means _You're fucking weird, Winchester—_ but then turns back to his book without another comment.

Sam pops the tape into the walkman, puts the headphones on, and presses play.

It takes three songs for Sam to get it. Night Flight ends and Pink Floyd's Learning to Fly begins, but it's not until Queen's Spread Your Wings starts that it clicks. He stops the tape, has to take a moment for the pain in his chest to ease, before he listens to the rest of the tape.

He has to hand it to Dean—he doesn't do things half-assed. It's a whole fucking tape of songs about flying, about spreading your wings. And from anyone else it might perhaps be considered sweet, might be interpreted as encouraging. But Sam knows Dean, better than anyone, and he can practically hear the accusation behind the songs, can hear Dean say, "You fucking left me, Sam," in his bitter, hurt voice.

When Sam told him he was leaving, Dean hadn't said a word. He'd just looked at Sam, pain and betrayal written all over his face, and Sam had almost taken it all back right then and there.

Sam’s heart aches all over again now.

There's a door that hides the stairs leading up to the roof of the dormitory. The building is on the older side and the lock is pretty shoddy, easy to pick. At least when you've been picking locks your entire life, like Sam has.

The roof is one of Sam's favorite places on campus, just because it's pretty much the only place where he can truly be alone. He's used to sharing his space with someone, but not someone that isn't Dean or his dad, and it's tougher than he thought. There isn't a place on campus that doesn't feel crowded; even the library, where it's significantly more quiet, is never empty.

Sam is used to hours upon hours on the road, a lot of the times with not a lot being said, and being around this many people on campus gets a little overwhelming. Up here, he feels like he can escape for a little while and just breathe.

So the roof is where he goes after he's listened to the entire tape twice. He wants this conversation, his first real connection with Dean in weeks, to be just between them, something nobody else gets to have a piece of, even if it's just his roommate hearing a few snippets of conversation.

Dean picks up after four rings, with a soft, "Hey," before he clears his throat.

Sam wasn't sure he'd pick up. It's probably why he sent a text when he got to Palo Alto, but never called, too scared of how much it would hurt if Dean didn't pick up.

"Hey, Dean," he says. 

"Sammy," Dean replies, voice all gruff and _Dean_ and Sam swallows thickly.

"I got the tape," he says. "Thanks, I guess." 

"Oh. Yeah. That," Dean says, sounding both sheepish and as if it's no big deal. As if he didn't sit down and make a mixtape for Sam, picking each and every song on there purposefully. As if he didn't pour all of his anger and frustration and pain into that fucking thing.

Sam exhales. "You know, it's a little stupid. This whole 'free as a bird' thing," he says. "It's not like they're free to go wherever, they go where it's warm to survive. And then they return to the same area where they last nested the following spring."

"Okay. Nerd," Dean mutters.

Sam laughs, a little choked. "I'm just saying," he argues weakly. "So… you're mad, huh?" 

There's a beat of silence and then Dean groans.

"Man, I don't know, Sammy," he says.

"Okay," Sam says quietly. "Where are you right now?" 

"Maine," Dean says.

"Hunting?" 

"What else?" Dean replies and then Sam hears a loud exhale. "Yeah, hunting. We're not really sure what it is yet. Cops are saying it's animal attacks, but well, cops, you know?" 

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "You're being careful, right?"

Dean chuckles softly, not quite humorous. "I'm not an idiot, Sammy." 

"Good," Sam says.

"How's college?" Dean asks, and it sounds like he doesn't really want to know. Like he'd rather not ask. Because the idiot probably thinks Sam is having the time of his life, instead of staring at his phone half of the time, missing Dean like a limb.

"Okay," Sam says dismissively. "It's a lot to get used to, but I like it, I guess. I miss you though."

"Sammy." 

"I know, I know. No chick flick moments or whatever," Sam mutters, repeating the line he's heard several times in his life already. "I just… wanted you to know that." 

"Okay."

 _You left though_. Dean doesn't say those words, but Sam knows they're at the tip of his tongue. Or maybe it's just his guilty conscience, because he did leave Dean. Years of anger and pain and confusion and _I'm in love with my fucking brother_ , and Sam took that all and just ran. Told himself he was running towards something, instead of away from something, because that made it better. Made it easier to justify.

Dean doesn't know half of it, _most of it_ , but Sam knows he might never forgive him.

"Just… maybe call me sometimes? Let me know how the hunt went," he says, staring out at the campus, at all the students down there, and wishes one of them was Dean.

Can't have it all, Sam, he thinks. And some things, he knows, he can never have.

"I will," Dean finally says.

"Really?" Sam asks, surprised. He expected Dean to tell him to go to hell, or perhaps hang up without even really talking to him.

"Yeah, really," Dean says, and Sam knows he means it. Because Dean never breaks his promises to him.

Sam is in bed, almost asleep, three days later when he hears his phone buzz. He picks it up, trying to be quiet so he doesn't wake Brady up.

There's a message from Dean: _Leaving town now. Just wrapped up the case_.

Sam smiles, feeling lighter knowing Dean is okay.

 _Good. Be careful out there,_ he texts.

 _Night, Sammy_.

They keep talking after that, little texts and short calls.

Leaving Dean was far and beyond the hardest part about his decision to go to college and he hasn't spent a day since he got here not worrying about how Dean is doing, if he's safe and unharmed. Hearing from him periodically now makes things easier, because Sam can keep tabs on Dean's whereabouts now, doesn't have to worry as much unless he knows Dean is in the thick of a hunt. And at the same time keeping in contact makes things harder, because Sam checks his phone and emails constantly now. He was thrown some crumbs and now he can't help but want the whole thing.

It's worse than before. The way he craves Dean's attention, the way he obsesses over his brother.

For as long as Sam can remember, Dean has been at the center of his world. And even with hundreds of miles between them, apparently that doesn't change. Neither do Sam's feelings for Dean. Those impossible, twisted feelings that have been weighing heavily on Sam's conscience, gnawing at his stomach non-stop because he shouldn't be feeling that way, but he couldn't help it. Couldn't stop seeking Dean out all day, every day, vying for Dean's attention just like one of the many girls that were always flirting with Dean no matter where they went. And even here, even now, Sam apparently isn't immune to Dean.

He'd hoped he would be. He'd hoped the distance would fix whatever is broken in his brain. That if Dean stopped being his only friend, his only companion, Sam would realize he isn't truly in love with him. That he just got confused, that he latched onto Dean because there was nobody else.

There are plenty of people here. People who are interesting and good-looking and everything Sam should want. But they're not Dean and Sam looks at them and feels nothing.

Sam is a little tipsy. It took Brady a good ten minutes to convince him to come to the party, and in the end Sam only agreed because this is something college kids do and Sam _wanted_ normal.

"Hey, have we met?" someone asks, touching his arm.

Sam spins around and squints at the guy next to him. He's tall, though not as tall as him—not quite as tall as Dean either—with blond, messy hair and an easy smile.

"We're in that one class together, right?" the guy adds, and Sam knows they're not. Knows the guy knows it, too. He looks a few years older, and Sam has been hit on by enough guys in seedy bars and at dirty truck stops to know what this is.

"I don't think so," Sam says, shrugging.

The guy laughs. "Aww, hell, you're not gonna make this easy, huh?" he says and grins at Sam. "How about this—you wanna go somewhere more quiet and get to know each other a little bit?"

It's blunt and the guy gives of an air of cockiness that should be off-putting, but it reminds Sam of Dean and that gives him pause.

He's never been with a guy, never even looked at one twice. But he's never really looked much at girls either, because he's been too busy staring at Dean all his life. And sometimes he has wondered. Girls have been easier; _normal_. And he liked them, even if he wasn't ever in love with one. But his life had already been complicated enough without throwing guys into the mix.

But this is college. College is all about experimentation.

"Okay, yeah," Sam agrees.

The guy—Tom or Tim or maybe Tony; Sam forgets his name almost as soon as he introduces himself—leads Sam upstairs to an empty bedroom, that definitely isn't his because there's girls' stuff all over the room. He locks the door, pushes Sam up against the wall and then sinks down onto his knees with a smug little smirk.

"Shit," Sam mutters and his head falls back against the wall when Tom or whatever his name is undoes Sam's jeans and drags them down along with his underwear.

It feels _good_ , but the part of Sam's brain that isn't getting sucked right out of his dick argues that anyone's hot, wet mouth would probably feel good. And the guy knows what he's doing; he sucks and licks and then he fucking deep-throats Sam and nobody's ever done that to him.

"Fuck," Sam moans. "Fuck, that's good." 

Tom pops off his dick and grins up at him. "Like that, huh?" he asks, and somehow hearing his voice jars Sam a little. Not enough to stop this, to not let Tom suck him back into his mouth. But good or not, it doesn't feel entirely right.

Sam isn't sure if it's because it's a guy or because it's _this_ guy, some random dude at a frat party. Not the guy he wants. Not the full lips he wants wrapped around his cock, not the green eyes he wants to stare up at him with smug amusement written all over that beautiful face.

It's that image that pushes Sam over the edge, makes him come with a shuddered groan.

Tom works him through the orgasm, swallows and then tucks Sam back into his jeans. He gets up and pulls Sam into a kiss, and Sam lets him.

"Want me to?" he asks when they part.

"Already took care of it," Tom says, and yeah, that's kinda hot.

Sam's gotten a few blowjobs in his life, though not many, but he can't remember any of the girls ever being that enthusiastic about it and Sam totally gets it, because he can't imagine it's all that great. Except then his thoughts flit to Dean again, to what it would be like if Sam sucked him off and Sam almost gets hard again.

Tom grins at him, leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth, "Maybe next time, cowboy," he drawls, and Sam cringes inwardly at how not sexy he sounds.

"Sure," he mutters. He pushes off the wall, runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to straighten it a little.

"Wait a second," Tom says and heads for the desk in the corner of his room. He rummages around for a moment, then writes something down and rips off a piece of paper.

"My number," he says and then saunters over to Sam, slips the paper into the backpocket of Sam's jeans. "Call me sometime if you want to have some fun."

Sam makes a non-committal sound and nods. "Thanks for the…" he says awkwardly, and Tom laughs.

"My pleasure," he says and then he pulls the door open and waves for Sam to step outside first, giving him a little slap on the ass as Sam passes.

"Sam?"

Sam turns and there, two doors down the hallway, is Jess, looking at him with somewhat wide eyes.

"Oh," she says and then flushes in the dim light of the hallway. "Sorry. Don't let me interrupt you and your, uh, friend." 

She turns around before Sam can say another word and vanishes around the corner.

"Uh, awkward," Tom mutters and Sam kind of wants to clock the guy. His stomach feels all twisted up suddenly and when Tom moves in a little closer, Sam quickly takes a few steps away from him.

Sam spends a good thirty minutes searching the party for Jess, and finally runs into her roommate in the kitchen.

"She left, like, two minutes ago," Sarah tells him when Sam asks if she knows where Jess is.

"Back to the dorms?" Sam asks and Sarah nods.

"She said she wasn't feeling too well," she says and frowns. "Think I should have gone with her? Made sure she was alright? She said it was nothing, but she looked a little spooked." 

"I'll go check up on her," Sam offers and Sarah smiles gratefully. 

"That'd be great, Sam," she says and nods. "I'm sure Jess would appreciate it."

 _Probably not_ , Sam thinks, and maybe he shouldn't chase after her. He didn't do anything wrong and Jess is the one who seems to have a problem, but Sam can't just let her go. Jess is one of the few friends he's made and there’s something about her that makes him feel less lonely, less overwhelmed.

Jess is wearing an oversized t-shirt when she opens her door after Sam knocks twice, her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, but still wearing make-up.

"Hey Sam," she says, and somehow the sheepish look on her face makes Sam feel a little better.

"Hey. Sarah said you weren't feeling well."

"Uh, yeah," Jess says.

"Because of me and the guy?" Sam asks cautiously.

Jess huffs, looking a little nervous. "It's not that," she says and pauses. "Give me a sec, let me grab a jacket and my wallet and we can go have coffee somewhere. I don't want you to think… it's not _that,_ Sam, okay?"

"Okay," Sam says. He crosses his arms over his chest, that weird uncomfortable feeling not quite gone yet, as he waits for Jess.

It shouldn't really matter that much, he reasons with himself, because it's not like he's _really_ gay. It'd be shitty, because yeah, homophobia is bullshit, but it shouldn't feel personal. He's pretty sure if tonight showed him anything, it's that he's not really into guys, it's just Dean he's into. And Dean is a guy, sure, but Dean doesn't count. Dean is entirely different.

But Jess's reaction had hurt. Had felt personal.

Jess comes back, smiling tentatively, and touches his arm. "Come on, let's go," she says.

Sam clutches the hot mug of coffee in his hands and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

Jess clears her throat. "I don't care that you’re into guys, Sam," she says, keeping her voice low.

"No?" Sam asks. "'Cause you didn't seem too comfortable with it when you saw me with that guy."

Jess makes a pained face. "Yeah, okay, I'll give you that," she admits. "But it wasn't about that. I just… felt like an idiot."

"What?" Sam asks.

"Look, I just kinda thought," Jess starts and her cheeks grow pink. She waves her hand between them. "I kinda thought there was something there, but obviously not."

"Oh," Sam says, because yeah, maybe there was. Or there could have been, if he wasn't head over heels for Dean.

"See? I'm an idiot," Jess mumbles.

"No, you're not. Really," Sam says.

"I've been crushing on a gay guy," Jess says.

"I'm not _gay_ ," Sam admits.

Jess looks at him, a flash of hope on her face. For a moment, Sam considers it. He likes Jess and she's pretty damn amazing. Smart and witty and genuine, and he could probably be in a relationship with her. Could probably make it work. But he could never be all in. Maybe someday, if he could ever get over Dean, but right now Sam isn't sure that's something that'll ever happen for him. And it wouldn't be fair to Jess, stringing her along like that.

Sam sighs. "There's someone. This guy."

Jess clears her throat. "Yeah, I kinda saw."

"No, not that one," Sam says and huffs. "He was nothing. I didn't even really want him."

"But you want some other guy?"

"Yeah," Sam says quietly. "But I can't have that one."

"Oh… it's not _Brady_ , is it?" Jess asks, making a face.

Sam snorts. "God, no. You don't know him. It's someone from back home."

"Are you and him…" 

"No. No, we're not together. We're not anything," Sam says. "He'd never feel the same way about me." 

"You don't know that," Jess points out and apparently she's switched from liking Sam to encouraging him to be with someone else just like that and Sam really isn't sure what he did to deserve her.

"No, I do," he says and gives a twisted little smile. "It's complicated. Really complicated."

"Are you sure? Sometimes people can surprise you."

Sam gives a small shake of his head. "No. If he knew… it would ruin everything between us. Dean isn't… he'd never," he says sadly.

The next week starts off absolutely shitty. Sam wakes up on Monday with a headache and stuffy nose, and apparently all of the profs decided to be dicks that day of all days.

Somehow, Sam makes it through all of his classes, but he skips dinner and just goes back to his room to crawl into bed. Brady's home and Sam likes the guy, but having him there, moving around and making noise grates on his nerves. Sam puts on his headphones and listens to Dean's tape, which kind of only makes him feel shittier and makes his head pound more, but at least it drowns out Brady's presence.

Sam's never been sick without Dean there to take care of him. Even once they'd gotten older, once Sam had gotten too old to still crawl into Dean's bed or lean on him on long car rides or slide his hand into Dean's when he was scared, and knew their father wasn't watching to reprimand him for it, when Sam was sick it was almost like they both regressed to how things used to be. Dean would pet his hair, would lie down on the covers next to Sam and quietly hum tunes until Sam fell asleep, and Sam would often wake up tangled around Dean, clinging to him.

By midnight, Sam is close to tears because he feels miserable and he can't fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. Brady is snoring in his bed across the room, and Sam grabs his phone and pulls the covers up over his head.

 _Miss you,_ he texts Dean.

It takes three minutes before Dean replies, just a: _Damn it, Sammy._

 _Sorry,_ Sam writes.

 _It’s okay,_ Dean replies and then, a few moments later, _I miss you too._

There's another thick envelope with another tape in his mailbox a couple of weeks later, on Halloween of all days.

Brady tries to talk him into going out to yet another party, but the last thing Sam wants is to attend a Halloween party and spend the night with a bunch of college kids who think monsters are funny and have no clue that most of the things they dress up as are out there, killing people.

He waits until Brady has left before listening to Dean's tape.

November Rain makes him smile, because they've listened to that song so many times in the car. By the time he gets to Led Zepplin's All My Love, Sam is frowning and when REO Speedwagon's Time For Me To Fly starts, there's a lump in his throat.

The songs are all depressing, heart-achy. Sam guesses that means at least Dean's not really _mad_ at him anymore, but somehow these songs are even worse.

There's something there, something Sam can't quite grasp, and it makes his heart hurt and his breathing become all painful, and he wants Dean here and he _wants_ Dean, wants him close and around him and filling up every last bit inside of him until there's nothing left but him. And those songs, those songs are sending all kinds of mixed messages that make Sam's head spin and he knows Dean doesn't mean it that way. Can't possibly. But it's impossible for Sam to move on, to get over him, when Dean does things like this. When Dean is _so Dean_ , even with all the distance Sam has put between them, and his feelings weren't the only reason he left for college, not even the main reason, but he feels like an idiot for thinking he could ever escape them. Even if they never talked again, never saw each other again, Dean's place in his life is too big, too much.

Sam turns his face into his pillow and waits until he doesn't feel like crying anymore, before he thumbs the walkman off and grabs his phone. He sighs as he finds Dean's name in his contacts and calls; it rings and finally goes to voicemail.

"Damn," Sam mutters and hangs up.

Dean calls back an hour later, when Sam is in the middle of attempting to read a chapter for his anthropology class, though he barely managed to retain any of the things he's read so far.

"Hey. Sorry I didn't pick up," Dean says in way of greeting. 

"Working?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, but it turned out to be a bust. Just stupid teenagers playing a prank and spreading rumors that got out of hand," Dean huffs.

Sam snorts. "Idiots," he mutters.

"Yeah. And fucking Halloween, Sammy," Dean adds. "I mean, I'm all for girls in short skirts and skimpy outfits. But dude, if I see one more person dressed up as a ghost or a ghoul or whatever, I will shoot them."

"I know," Sam says with a small laugh. "Be glad you're not on some campus today. It's insane."

"So, you're not out partying?" 

"Fuck no. I mean, if I was a monster, I'd pick tonight to go on a rampage, because I'd just blend right in. I'm not leaving this dorm room tonight," Sam replies.

"Good," Dean says.

"I got your tape, by the way." 

"Oh. Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Thank you." 

"Yeah, well, I have to make sure you have some decent music in your life. Can't have you listening to all the crappy pop stuff college kids are probably into," Dean snarks.

"Geez, thanks for looking out for me," Sam says, not quite sure how to bring up the obvious theme of the new mixtape. Apparently Dean has no intention of doing that either, so he lets it slide, knows Dean would probably just brush it off anyway.

"Always, Sammy," Dean says.

"So, what are you doing tonight? Since the job was a bust." 

"Just… staying in, having a drink. I'm gonna hit the road early tomorrow."

The way he phrases it strikes Sam as weird and he pauses, "What about Dad? Isn't he with you?"

"Oh, uh, no. He's in Florida," Dean says, as if it's not a big deal. 

"Retired?" Sam jokes, but it falls a little flat. He's surprised Dean and Dad aren't together; John went off on his own a lot, sure, but Dean and he never hunted without him.

Dean snorts. "Working," he says.

"You guys split up?" 

"Yeah, just for a little while. There were a few smaller hunts, so it made sense," Dean says, too casually. 

"Right," Sam says, like it's really not a big deal, but the thought of Dean hunting on his own, without back-up, makes his stomach hurt a little. Out of the three of them, Dean has always been the most reckless one and he's _good_ , but he needs someone to look out for him, to stop him from just walking into every hunt guns blazing. "I didn't know you guys did that." 

"Sometimes," Dean says.

"Oh," Sam says and then an idea comes to him. "Hey, maybe you could come visit." 

"Sammy." 

"I mean, if you're in the area. Come on, why not?" Sam asks and then tags on more quietly, "Please?"

"Alright, maybe if I'm ever in the area," Dean says with a sigh. "Not sure if it's gonna work out, though, Sammy. Dad and I don't split up all the time." 

"Yeah, okay. Sure," Sam replies, feeling a little like Dean is trying to let him down easy. Like he doesn't want to say straight out no, but he sure isn't saying yes either.

Two days later, on November 2nd, Sam skips his last class of the day. He's been walking around with a rolling stomach all day, feels like there's a cloud over his head, and he glances at his phone every few seconds. His friends seem to sense that something is off about him today and after the initial, well-meant questions of "Are you okay?" "Something wrong, Sam?" that earn them nothing more than a grunt in reply, they back off. Sam's always had a hard time mourning on this day, grieving for someone he never really knew, but he knows how his dad gets on this day, and how Dean gets on this day.

He waits for Dean to text or call, but nothing comes.

Around ten that night, Sam finally picks up his phone, texts: _Hey_.

Dean doesn't reply and after a while, Sam sends another text: _Are you okay_?

 _Drunk_ , is the response he gets almost immediately.

Worry claws at Sam's stomach. It's not really a surprise, but at least Dean had never been alone on this day before. He's alone now, and for the first time Sam seriously regrets leaving.

He tries calling Dean, but Dean lets it ring and after the third attempt Sam gives up.

 _Okay. Be careful. Don't overdo it, please_ , he texts.

He doesn't get a reply, but he knows Dean is probably rolling his eyes, muttering about Sam being a nag and getting on his nerves.

"You need to go out more. Have some fun," Jess says, as she steers Sam towards the house where students are already spilling out onto the porch and front yard, loud music thumping from within.

"You sound like my brother." 

"You have a brother?" Jess asks, surprised, and Sam stumbles a little.

"Uh. Yeah," he says. "I do." 

"Huh. You never mentioned him," Jess says, looking at Sam curiously.

Sam shrugs, not really sure what to say. There are too many trap falls, talking about Dean and Dad and their lives. Too many possibilities to fuck up and say something he shouldn't say and he doesn't know how to talk about anything in his life without making it sound all weird and fucked up. "It's just, you know," he mutters.

"Complicated?" Jess guesses, looking both amused and curious. "Everything with you is. You're a walking enigma, Winchester." 

Sam shrugs again.

Jess heaves a sigh and gives Sam a little nudge as they walk up the porch stairs. "Well, no complications allowed tonight. We'll just have fun, have a few drinks, and hey, maybe you'll meet a cute guy." 

"I'm not gay," Sam mutters, trying to keep his voice quiet. He's not ashamed of maybe, kinda being into guys, even if it's possibly just one guy, but it's a _frat_ _party_ and Sam would rather not have to deal with drunk idiots wanting to beat him up tonight.

"Sure," Jess says dismissively, and Sam isn't in the mood to argue with her and convince her that he really does like girls. Because, really, it's easier that Jess has convinced herself that Sam needs a guy to get over the one he can't have. At least it means he doesn't have to explain to her that he does like her, likes her a whole lot, but he knows he's not capable of falling in love with her. So he lets her think it's because Sam needs to explore his sexuality and find himself a boyfriend to help him get over Dean.

They grab a drink and mingle with a few people they know and Jess even talks him into dancing a little, even though Sam mostly just sways his hips a little and flushes, knowing he must look like an idiot. It's not a bad party, and Sam is enjoying himself, even though he's not having the time of his life or anything. Eventually Jess spies a few girls from her floor and Sam begs out when she goes to talk to them, because they're eyeing him in that way that means absolutely no good.

He goes to get himself another drink. The kitchen is absolutely packed by now and Sam has to squeeze himself past people to get to the keg. There's a guy drawing beer and he gives Sam a look. He looks pretty much like a stereotypical frat boy, a couple of years older than Sam, and Sam knows he himself definitely _doesn't_ look like a frat boy. He half expects to get a comment about the length of his hair or maybe his choice of wardrobe, but the guy, after a pause, just nods and smirks at him. "Want a beer?" 

"Yeah," Sam says, and the guy grabs another cup from the other side of the keg, draws a beer and then hands it to Sam.

"Here you go, freshman," he says, the teasing tone in his voice not exactly kind. Sam takes his beer and gives him a tight smile before he leaves instead of letting some asshole frat boy goad him into a fight.

He's finished half of the drink when he starts to feel weird. The very bad kind of weird; dizzy and a little fuzzy and like his brain is slowing down, taking a moment to catch up. He wants to find Jess, but the house is packed and there are way too many people close to him and he needs air. Needs to clear his head.

Sam stumbles as he heads towards the vague direction of the door, and a couple of people complain when he stumbles into them; someone reaches for his arm, touches him, and Sam shakes them off, not wanting anyone's hands on him, panic spreading in his stomach. Outside, he dumps the rest of his drink and keeps walking, the need to get away propelling him forward even though his feet feel like lead and concentrating makes his head hurt.

He isn't quite sure how he makes it back to the dorms, but he does. He feels shaky, sweaty, and too warm and the moment he gets inside the building he feels like the walls are closing in around him, like he can't breathe properly.

"You okay, man?" someone says, and Sam shakes his head, mumbles something and heads for the stairs and up. And up, and up. He doesn't stop at his floor, isn't even really sure when he reaches it, just keeps going.

Picking the lock of the door to the stairs that lead up to the roof takes what feels like forever, the tremor in his hands making it difficult, but he needs _air_.

When he's finally up on the roof, he gulps in deep breaths, like he's been suffocating before. His chest feels too tight, that feeling of being trapped, of something being really wrong squeezing his lungs and heart too tight. He leans against the door behind him.

He manages to get his phone out of his pocket, and he can barely make out the screen, his vision swimming, but he somehow manages to find Dean's name and call. It goes to voicemail and Sam wants to cry. "Dean," he slurs. "Dean. _Dean_. 'm… 'm really fucked up, Dean. 'n the roof. I just… Dean."

He drops his hand with the phone, then after a few moments remembers to hang up and his fingers fumble with the buttons, pressing a bunch of them at once. He's dizzy, worse than before, and his stomach feels queasy and everything is spinning around him. Sam stands there for what feels like minutes, maybe hours, but it doesn't get better.

Maybe if he gets closer to the edge, he thinks. Maybe there'll be more air there. Maybe he'll feel better there, because he likes sitting by the ledge. He stumbles forward, feet dragging over the floor, his body swaying to the side before he catches himself.

It's pitch black outside and he can see so many blurry lights down on the ground. He wonders, if he jumped, if he could fly, like one of those birds Dean seems to think he is. The thought makes him laugh a little and he takes another step forward, stumbles again. Another step and then suddenly something grabs him, hauls him back and Sam struggles.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam."

Dean's voice, all rough and panicky, and of course he isn't real. Can't be, because Sam is here and Dean is… somewhere. Who knows where. Sam laughs. 

"Dean," he mumbles.

"Let's get away from the edge, Sammy, huh? Come on, come with me," Dean says, voice quiet and careful, like he's talking to a spooked horse, but urgent, too.

Sam nods, because if Dean wants him to move, he will. He'll do whatever Dean wants, will do anything for him.

Walking takes effort, but Dean's arms around him are holding him up, even if Dean isn't even real, guiding Sam back. And god, Sam wants him to be real. But even though he's not, at least he feels real and that's almost as good. Almost enough. Sam makes a hurt noise at that and realizes they're not moving anymore. The world around him is, but he's standing, Dean's not-real arms still tight around him, holding him against Dean's not-real, firm body. Sam twists around.

"Dean," he mumbles and sags against him. Whatever was in the drink, it's kind of awesome because he can even smell Dean, and he feels warm and strong and like everything Sam remembers. He tucks his face into the crook of Dean's neck, having to lean down a little because he's taller than Dean now, has been ever since this past summer.

"You stupid fucking idiot, Sam," Dean grunts and there's a hand on Sam's neck, gripping him so tight it almost hurts, pushing him further into the curve of Dean's neck and Sam likes it, would happily suffocate there, in Dean's smell.

"'m hall...hallun… ugh, you know," Sam mutters, unable to form the word because his stupid brain isn't working well. 

"What are you hallucinating?" Dean asks, his grip loosening a little, thumb swiping over damp skin and getting a little tangled in Sam's hair.

"You," Sam mumbles into Dean's skin. He sneaks his tongue out, experimentally, licks at salty sweat and the bitter taste of Dean's aftershave. Because it's not really Dean, so he can do that. 

Dean's breath hitches a little. "Okay, Sammy, enough," he says gently. "How much did you fucking drink, huh? Or did you take something? Because, Sam, I swear, I will put you over my knee and beat your ass red." 

_Huh_. That's a thought, Sam thinks.

"Two beers," he finally slurs, remembering that not-Dean has asked him a question. "'s guy. I think, you know. In my drink."

Dean pushes him back a little, and Sam tries to hold on, but Dean manages to move back a little, far enough to take Sam's face in his hands. Sam can barely make him out, because it's dark and his vision is blurry, but huh, what he sees actually looks like Dean, too.

"Did someone slip something into your drink, Sammy?" Dean asks, and he's definitely angry now.

"My Dean," Sam mumbles, reaching out to pet, to soothe.

"Sam," Dean prompts.

Sam hums, hand finding Dean's face, sliding over skin and stubble. 

"Jesus," Dean mutters. "Okay, let's get you into bed and talk about this tomorrow." 

"Hmm, okay," Sam agrees. He lets Dean lift his arm up and over Dean's shoulder, lets Dean haul him against his side.

Walking kind of sucks, and the stairs are the worst, and Sam is pretty sure he's not going to make it down in one piece. "If I fall down and break my neck, you think real Dean will be upset?" he asks, the words coming out all jumbled, but it doesn't matter, since he's imagining Dean anyway he'll probably understand him.

"I think real Dean is going to have a lot of fucking words with you tomorrow," Dean mutters, and keeps moving them down the stairs, taking most of Sam's weight and that's kinda nice. "Where's your room?" 

"Umm," Sam says, too fuzzy.

"Sam, room. Just give me a number." 

"Uh. Three something," he says. "16? No, 17. 17."

"Okay, good," Dean says, patting Sam's chest with the hand he doesn't have curled tightly around Sam's waist. If he was real, it'd probably leave bruises and Sam really likes that. "No, no more talking, just focus on walking and getting to your room, okay?" 

"Okay, Dean," Sam agrees.

And somehow, after what feels like an eternity, they make it and the hallucination of Dean is awesome because he even gets the door open without Sam having to do a thing. 

And that's when the nausea that has been making Sam's stomach roll really hits. "Uh, gonna puke," he manages to mutter.

"Fuck, okay. Bathroom?" Dean asks, but Sam is already stumbling towards it, dragging Dean along.

He pushes blindly at the door, and he must have left the light on because everything goes horribly bright and that just makes it worse. Sam barely manages to make it to the sink before he heaves, making a pained noise as he throws up a gross mixture of beer and his dinner.

A hand rubs up and down his back, soothing.

"Shh, okay, Sam, okay," Dean murmurs.

Sam lifts his head, blinking into the mirror. He looks a mess, hair sweaty and tangled, face pale and eyes bloodshot and there's vomit on his chin. And there, right by his side, is Dean. Gorgeous, perfect Dean.

"You done?" Dean asks, and Sam's stomach rolls again, and he shakes his head, pressing his lips tightly together.

"Okay, come on, let's try and make it to the toilet this time," Dean says and slips his arm around Sam's waist again, helping him a few steps to the toilet. Sam sinks down, and then he's heaving again, his stomach cramping painfully as he empties it.

"Good, get it all out, Sam," Dean says, and he's an asshole for encouraging Sam, because this sucks and it hurts.

When he's finally done, his stomach starting to feel calmer, Sam collapses against Dean, and feels his arms come around him again, holding him tight. He could just stay here forever, he thinks blearily.

Sam's head is pounding when he wakes up and his mouth is dry and gross. He tries to roll around, but there's a solid weight against his back, preventing him from shifting around and he grunts.

A hand lands on his arm, strokes down his skin all the way to his elbow and Sam tenses.

"How do you feel, Sammy?"

Dean. Sam's mind is fuzzy and it doesn't make sense, but that's Dean. Sam twists around and the movement makes the pain in his head spike; grunting, he covers his eyes with his arm, pressing them shut.

"Fuck." 

"Not so good, then, huh?" Dean asks. "Alright. I found some painkillers in the bathroom and I got you some gatorade; how about you take those pills, hydrate and then sleep a bit more? We'll talk later."

Slowly, Sam moves his arm off his face and yeah, there's Dean. His expression is kinda tight, his smile definitely fake, but none of that matters because Dean is actually there with him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice all scratchy and rough and his throat aches.

"Saving your ass, as always," Dean says, but his tone lacks any humor. "Come on."

He helps Sam sit up a little, and Sam has so many questions, the events of the night before slowly coming back to him. Instead of talking, he dutifully swallows the pills Dean gives him, swallows down some of the gatorade in small sips and then lies back down.

The second time Sam wakes up, Dean is sitting at his desk, legs resting on top of it, dirty boots and all, thumbing through one of the novels Sam has to read for his English lit class. He looks up when Sam makes a noise and gives him another one of those tense smiles that don't reach his eyes. 

"Feeling better?" 

"Yeah. Thanks," Sam says and clears his dry throat. He sits up, his muscles feeling like jelly, and grabs the half-empty bottle of gatorade. He fumbles a little getting the cap off, before taking a few gulps; all the while Dean watches him like a hawk. And when Sam puts the bottle down, he exhales loudly. 

"What the hell, Sammy?" he asks harshly. "I leave you alone for a few weeks and you let some guy drug you and then almost fall off a three-story building? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. Roofied," Sam points out, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

"And how the fuck did that happen? You know. You _know_ never to accept a drink someone hands to you, to make sure you see them open the bottle and then not to let your drink out of your sight even for a second," Dean explodes.

"It was a college party," Sam says. "You don't exactly get drinks in unopened bottles there."

"Then you don't fucking drink," Dean snaps, and that's really not fair because Dean has been to parties and done this; Sam knows because he's been with Dean to a couple of parties like that.

"Dean," he starts, but Dean interrupts him.

"Fuck, Sammy. You know what could have happened to you? What that guy could have done?"

"I don't think that was what he was after. He just wanted to fuck me up," Sam argues weakly.

"Oh. Oh, that's okay then. You almost fell to your death off a fucking dorm building, but at least nobody wanted to rape you first," Dean snarks.

The words make Sam's stomach twist and he swallows thickly, twisting his fingers in the sheets.

And then suddenly Dean is on the bed with him, hauling Sam into his arms. He hugs him so tightly, Sam thinks he might crack one of his ribs, will at the very least leave bruises. And he remembers, last night, that he thought about Dean leaving bruises on him then, too and how he wanted that. He thinks he also might have licked Dean's neck, though he really hopes that's something he just made up.

"Fuck, Sammy, do you have any idea how scared I was last night?" Dean mutters, and Sam doesn't reply, just hugs Dean back and buries his face in his shoulder.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Sam asks a bit later. They're sitting side by side on Sam's bed, backs against the wall, and Sam is glad Brady isn't here for the weekend, that he can have Dean all to himself.

"You invited me," Dean says, a little defensively.

"I did," Sam quickly says. "Just… didn't think you'd want to."

"Yeah, well, I was close by, so…" 

"I'm glad," Sam says, because Dean obviously doesn't want to make a big deal out of being here with Sam and Sam isn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Sorry it's kinda sucking." 

"It's okay," Dean replies. "It would have sucked a lot more if I hadn't shown up, because you're a fucking moron." 

"Yeah," Sam admits sheepishly. He sighs and stretches his legs a little. "Let me go take a shower and then maybe we can grab some food."

"Think you're up for that?" 

Sam shrugs. It's late afternoon already and his stomach feels pretty okay. His head is still hurting a bit, but not as much as earlier this morning. "We'll see," he says, and hauls himself out of bed.

In the bathroom, Sam strips out of his boxer-briefs and t-shirt, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Dean must have undressed him the night before. It's not like it would have been the first time.

He glances at himself in the mirror, and yeah, he looks pretty damn bad. He sighs and turns towards the shower, and that's when he catches a glimpse of his waist and he squints at the mirror. There are faint, finger-shaped bruises there, all smudged together.

Sam has to take a cold shower after that and reminds himself that Dean is right next door in his room. The thought doesn't really help with his hard-on much.

The Impala shines black in the late afternoon sun, not a spot on her, and Sam's heart aches before he even gets inside. Dean looks at him a little thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything.

Sliding into the passenger seat feels like coming home and Sam has to bite back the happy sigh. He subtly curls his fingers around the edge of the leather seat and smiles.

"Where to?" Dean asks, slipping on is sunglasses.

"Uh, I don't really know all that many places," Sam admits. "But there's a diner not too far away that you'll probably like."

"Sounds good," Dean agrees. "Lead the way, Sammy."

Sam doesn't eat much, but for once Dean doesn't mock him for being a picky eater. He doesn't seem quite as enthusiastic about the burger he's ordered as Sam is used to either, but that's probably because he seems to be distracted by every person who comes into the diner, looking at them critically.

He does the same later on, once they've parked the car and are heading back towards Sam's dorm, skimming the crowd and glowering at everyone who brushes too closely past them.

"I don't even really remember what he looked like Dean," Sam lies, knowing exactly what Dean is doing.

Dean looks at him, eyes narrowed. "You don't, huh? You memorize every single thing you read and can interview a witness and then describe every little detail to a T afterwards."

Sam shrugs. "I guess I wasn't paying attention." 

"Sam." 

Sam shakes is head. "I don't remember," he says. "And if I did, I wouldn't tell you." 

"You're an asshole." 

"Yeah, that's me," Sam says.

Back in the dorm room, Dean looks around, standing in the middle of the room a little awkwardly. "Well, I should probably go and find a motel for the night." 

"You could stay," Sam offers, sounding just as unsure as Dean. 

"Bed's kinda small, huh, Sammy?"

"It was fine last night. And we've shared before," Sam points out. And while that's true, they were a lot younger the last time they shared a bed and even then it was because money was so low, they couldn't really do anything about it. But Sam wants Dean to stay, isn't ready to let him out of his sight after so many weeks apart.

"And your roommate?" 

Sam shrugs. "He's gone for the weekend. His girlfriend is at UCLA and he won't be back until Monday morning," he says. "Come on. We can watch movies and sleep in tomorrow and be lazy, have the kind of Sunday we never really could because Dad made us get up and train." 

Dean huffs. "Being in shape is important, Sammy," he mutters, but he sits down at Sam's desk and starts toeing off his boots.

"One Sunday won't hurt," Sam argues. "And you always cursed Dad as much as I did when he made us run for miles."

"I did not," Dean lies, grinning a little. "So, what movie do you wanna watch? And fair warning, if it's some pretentious bullshit or a cheesy romcom, I'm disowning you."

Sunday turns out to be every bit as amazing as Sam had hoped it would be. They sleep in and they do go on a short run, but it's fun, running side by side with Dean familiar and easy, and they grab breakfast and Sam shows Dean around campus a little. The rest of the day they just hang out in the dorms, Dean tells him about a few recents hunts and Sam tells Dean about the grossest parts of living in a dorm.

Dean stays over that night as well, the two of them sharing Sam's way too small bed. Sam kind of hated the bed from the moment he moved in, cursing colleges who didn't consider that some students wouldn't be tiny, delicate girls, but tall—overgrown, according to Dean—guys with decently wide shoulders. But having to share that space with Dean, sleeping pressed up against each other, bodies touching everywhere, is pretty much what Sam thinks heaven must be like. He has a few bruises by Monday morning, because Dean kicks in his sleep, and his back hurts a little from the positions they had to twist themselves into, but Sam's okay with that if it means being close to Dean.

But then Monday comes and with it Dean's departure and saying goodbye sucks even more than it did when Sam left for Stanford to begin with.

"You'll call me, right?" Sam asks, standing by the end of his bed, the duffle bag Dean brought up to the room on Saturday packed up and at Dean's feet.

"You can call, too." 

"I will. All the time," Sam says, with a small smile, not caring that he sounds like some cheesy romance novel character.

"You're a dramatic little shit, you know that?" Dean says, rolling his eyes. But then he steps forward and pulls Sam into a tight hug. Sam hooks his chin onto his shoulder and closes his eyes for a second, wrapping his own arms around Dean.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Dean sighs, stepping back, but not moving completely out of Sam's space yet. There's a moment of silence that stretches on for too long, gets heavy suddenly, and for a moment Sam swears Dean's eyes flit down to his mouth and he leans in a little, and Sam's breath catches, thinks Dean is about to kiss him, but then Dean huffs and ruffles Sam's hair.

"I gotta get going," he says, his voice thick and low.

"Yeah, right," Sam says, snapping out of it. "Be careful."

Dean nods. "You too Sam, okay? Promise?" he says seriously.

Sam nods.

By the time Sam trudges home from classes that afternoon, feeling moody and a little confused by everything that happened this weekend, Brady is back. Their room is in the typical flurry of chaotic madness that Brady brings with him, clothes strewn around on his side of the room, music _and_ the TV playing, and Brady greets him with a loud, "Sam! Long time no seen, buddy." 

"Three days," Sam says. "You're in a good mood." 

"Am I? Man, I don't know. I had a good weekend, but I kinda miss Caitlyn already." 

Sam raises his eyebrows. "A week ago you told me you were thinking about breaking up." 

"Yeah, but you know," Brady says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sam sighs. "You're gross," he says.

"Hmm, come on, you had someone over, too, didn't you?" 

"What?" Sam asks, taken aback.

Brady nods at Sam's bed. "Never seen you wear an AC/DC shirt before," he says. "Figured maybe you had a visitor."

Sam's mouth grows a little dry, seeing the shirt that's lying bunched up, half under his pillows. "Uh." 

"It's cool, you know. That you're into guys. I don't care," Brady adds. "I kinda figured, anyway." 

"You did?" Sam asks.

"Come on, Winchester. I introduce you to a girl like Jess and she's so obviously into you, you either have to be blind or gay not to hit on her." 

"You know that's bullshit, right?" Sam counters.

Brady snorts. "Whatever. So you're saying you're not into guys and that shirt doesn't belong to some hot guy you had over while you had the room to yourself this weekend." 

"Shut up," Sam mutters, because he can't really deny it. Doesn't really want to when Brady doesn't seem to care if Sam is into guys and that's easier than making up lies.

Brady laughs.

Sam starts wearing the shirt to sleep after a few days. He tries to be stealthy about it, but he gives up after a couple of days, because changing in the dark so Brady doesn't notice is kind of a pain.

"Aww, you're wearing your boyfriend's shirt," Brady teases when he sees Sam coming out of the bathroom in it one night.

"Fuck off," Sam replies, trying not to get flustered. "You have your girlfriend's sweater under your pillow." 

"Uh, she forgot it here and I forgot to give it back, asshole, that's it," Brady counters, looking kinda flustered too and neither of them brings it up again afterwards.

"Uh, hey," Dean says when he answers the phone, sounding a little weird.

"Hey Dean," Sam says. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sure. Just… one second," Dean replies, words clipped. Sam listens to a door opening and then slamming shut, followed by Dean's hurried footsteps before he comes back on. "Hi, Sam."

Sam licks his lips, looking ahead of him at the empty rooftop and the view across campus beyond that. It's the first time he's been up here since that night a couple of weeks ago.

"What was that?" Sam asks.

"Nothing," Dean says. "Just… there was only one room left at the motel we're at, so I have to share with dad." 

"Oh. You and Dad are back on the road together?" 

"Yeah," Dean says, a little clipped. Something creaks and then Sam hears the familiar sound of the Impala's door slamming shut.

"How's he doing?" Sam asks, because he knows he should and he does care, despite all the shit that's happened between them.

"You know, he's… Dad," Dean hedges.

Sam hums, because he knows exactly what that means. "And you?"

"Same old," Dean says and then he sighs suddenly, in a way he never really does. "Things are a bit crappy right now." 

"What's going on?" Sam asks, sitting up straighter. "Is something wrong? Are you hurt?" 

"No, nothing like that. Relax, kiddo," Dean says. "Just… we're not getting anywhere with this hunt and Dad's in a crappy mood and I just… fuck, why'd you have to leave, Sam?"

"Dean," Sam says helplessly. 

"No, I know, okay. I know why. I'm not… I'm just in a mood," Dean mutters. "I swear, the moment we wrap this up I'm going out and getting shitfaced."

Sam doesn't really know what to say to that, doesn't want to nag even though he wants Dean to promise him not to go crazy, to be careful.

"Sam," Dean says, sounding weary. "I'm sorry, I'm just not… I'm not really in the mood for talking right now." 

"Oh. Okay," Sam says, ducking his head though there's nobody around to see the way his expression slips.

"I'll call you soon, okay?" 

"Yeah," Sam agrees. "Dean… Happy Thanksgiving." 

Dean groans softly. "Back at ya, Sammy," he mutters and then hangs up.

Five days later, Sam gets a text from Dean, the first time he's heard from him since Thanksgiving and he wants to be mad, wants to yell at Dean for not getting back to him for days when Sam has been worried about him, about the hunt they're on, and he's texted Dean three freaking times since and never gotten an answer.

Dean's text piques his curiosity though.

_Don't listen to the tape, Sam. Please._

Sam finds a large envelope in his mailbox a few days later. And he really wants to do what Dean asked him to, but there's no way.

He's not even back at his dorm before he has the envelope ripped open and is pulling out another cassette tape.

He grabs his walkman and then sneaks up onto the roof again, knowing Brady will be home soon and whatever is on this tape, Sam wants to be alone while listening to it. He sits down, not caring that it's kinda chilly and the ground is cold under his butt, pops the tape in and hits play.

Sam's breath catches.

He's pretty sure he doesn't breathe for the entire length of the first song, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for the second and third song, just to be sure. Just so he doesn't jump to conclusions and get it all wrong.

Nothing Else Matters by Metallica ends and Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin begins and it's fucking love songs.

Sam would think Dean _has_ to have been possessed or cursed when he did this, because it's too damn cheesy, if it wasn't for the fact that every single one of those songs are so _him_.

Sam stops the tape then and grabs his phone, calling Dean without giving himself time to question this, to come up with what to say or what not to say.

"Hey ya, Sammy," Dean greets, but the cheer in his voice sounds fake.

"Hey," Sam says, unable to stop smiling.

There's a pause and then Dean curses quietly. "You listened to the fucking tape, didn't you?" he asks. "For fuck's sake, Sammy, why can't you leave things alone when I tell you to?" 

"Because that's what little brothers do," Sam says.

"Fuck," Dean snaps. " _Exactly_."

And that's when it all really sinks in. Dean feels the same way about him. Dean didn't want Sam to listen to the mixtape because he's in love with Sam and he didn't want him to know and yes, it's fucked up and Dean might not be okay with it, but Sam suddenly feels like there's hope. It's out there now and it's real.

"It's a good tape," Sam says quietly, gently, because he knows Dean is freaking out.

Dean laughs humorlessly. "It was a mistake, Sam. It's fucked up." 

"Dean, who cares?"

"I can make a list," Dean shoots back. "Starting with Dad, ending with the law. _You_ should care, too, most of all." 

"I don't. Not like that. And nobody else has to know, Dean," Sam says. "I mean, god, I've been in fucking love with you forever."

There's a long breath and Sam waits, his heart beating so fast in his chest it actually hurts.

"You know, I'm not sure what I was afraid of more," Dean says, his voice pained. "That you'd hate me or that you'd say that."

"Dean, don't do this," Sam says. "Can you come here? Let's talk about this. Work this out."

"Sam."

"Please," Sam pleads.

"You're serious about this," Dean says. "You want this to happen. You want us to…" he trails off, and Sam licks his lips, feels nervous even though Dean is miles and miles away.

"I do," he confirms.

"Are you sure, Sam? Really sure?"

"Yes," Sam says, his heart racing.

"You want us to… Sam," Dean says, sounding helpless. "We're not talking about cuddling in bed and holding hands here." 

"I know," Sam says with a snort. "As if you'd do those things anyway." 

"I'm just… having a hard time wrapping my head around this," Dean admits.

He's scared. And Sam gets that. His feelings for Dean have terrified him for the longest time and he's beaten himself up over it, sometimes worrying to the point of making himself sick. It's probably worse for Dean, because that's how Dean is—he blames himself for things that aren't his fault, carrying the world on his shoulders and never believing he's good enough for anything. He covers it up with jokes and a cocky attitude, but Sam knows Dean. And this has probably been tearing him up.

But the fact that they both feel the same way changes everything.

"I want this. I want all of it. Everything," Sam says firmly.

Dean is silent for a moment that seems to stretch on forever and then he says quietly, voice pained, "Give me some time, okay?"

Sam wants to keep pushing, wants to demand more and prod until he gets his way. He knows he probably could, too, because he's done it countless times, whether deliberately or not. But Sam sighs and concedes.

"Okay," he says, and tries hard not to sound hurt.

There are a lot of situations in life where Sam is patient. He can spend hours in a library, whether for school or to research lore, he's spend more time sitting in the back of a car with nothing to do than probably most other people in the world, and he is endlessly patient with Dean when he's being a douche.

He's not patient now. Maybe because he's waited for years, or maybe because he's worried that if he gives Dean too much time he'll talk himself out of this, convince himself that they shouldn't, can't. And the thought scares Sam, because now that he knows Dean feels the same way, he isn't sure how he'd handle it if Dean rejected him anyway. Just the thought makes his heart hurt.

And Dean is, well, Dean is the kind of person who needs someone to knock some sense into him when it comes to things like that. Someone to give him a little nudge.

And so Sam, after giving Dean a couple of days to think, smuggles a few beers into his room, gets a little tipsy and then takes a picture of himself on his bed, wearing Dean's shirt and boxer-briefs. The angle is a little off and the camera on Sam's Nokia is pretty crappy, though apparently not crappy enough that you can't see the bright blush on Sam's cheek and he looks more embarrassed, or maybe embarrassing, then sexy. He sends it to Dean anyway, before he can change his mind about it, and then, cheeks now flushed an even deeper shade of pink, he puts on his headphones and tries to study, forcing himself not to check his phone every few seconds to see if Dean has replied.

When his phone buzzes against his hip, he jumps a little and he feels a little trepidation when he sees Dean's name on the display.

"Uh, hey, Dean," he answers.

"Fucking hell, Sam," Dean says, his voice all gravely and a little angry like he sounds when Sam has done something particularly frustrating. "Are you trying to kill me?" 

"No?" Sam replies.

"You sure?" 

"Just thought, you know, maybe that'd convince you to come visit me again."

Dean snorts. "As if you aren't already tempting enough as it is?" he mutters.

The words send heat through Sam, pooling right in the pit of his stomach. "I am?" he asks, smiling.

"You're a shirt stealer, is what you are," Dean replies. "I've been looking for that."

"You forgot it here a few weeks ago."

"And you decided it's okay for you to wear it tonight? It's still mine, you know." 

"Been wearing it a lot," Sam replies.

"To classes?" Dean asks, voice thick.

Sam grins. "At night, asshole," he says.

"So… so, I guess I have to come and get it back, huh?" 

"Yeah, guess so," Sam replies.

"Fine. Just… let me find something in the area. Dad won’t like it if I drive all the way to Cali without a good reason," Dean says.

It's a week before Dean makes it to Palo Alto. Sam took his last final the day before and he's packing a bag. He has a motel room booked for the Christmas break because he didn't know where else to go with the dorms closing down tomorrow, and he doesn't want his friends to know he has nowhere to go and start asking questions. So everyone thinks he's going home tomorrow as well, and Sam's okay with that. He plans to get some studying in and watch mindless TV and call Dean as much as possible.

He's just gathered the few toiletries he needs when his phone chimes with an incoming text.

_Busy?_

_No. Want me to call you?_ , Sam replies.

 _Come outside. I'm waiting for you down the street from campus_.

_For real?_

_What do you think, Sammy? Yes._

Sam tosses the things in his hands into his bag carelessly and then grabs a hoodie and his keys, heading for the door. He looks a bit like a mess today, finals having kept him way too busy, but Dean has seen him look a lot worse.

He pulls the hoodie on while jogging down the stairs, and then forces himself to walk at a normal pace, not sprint across campus like he wants to.

Dean is leaning against the Impala, wearing sunglasses and his brown leather jacket, looking like the kind of guy parents probably warn their daughters not to date and yet almost every single girl—and a few guys—that passes Dean throws glances at him. Sam grins and stuffs his hands into his pockets as he gets closer, watches the way the smile on Dean's face spreads slowly. It's a little unsure, but it's a real smile.

"Heya," Dean drawls, and Sam laughs a little.

"Didn't think you'd come here this quickly," he admits.

"Yeah, well, your incentive worked, I guess," Dean says. He shrugs and Sam looks at him and there's a moment of awkwardness, like neither of them knows what to do next. "Wanna go for a drive, Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam agrees, nodding, eager to be alone with Dean and hopefully the familiarity of being in the car together will help them relax.

They get in the car, Dean guns the engine and eases the Impala back onto the road. Sam notices the looks they're getting and grins to himself.

Dean turns some music on after a minute of silence, softly humming along. He doesn't look completely relaxed, but like he's trying at least, and Sam feels jittery with nerves.

"How's school?" Dean asks after a while, and Sam can tell he's looking to break the ice, find something easy to talk about.

"Pretty good. I just got done with finals," Sam says. "I was just packing for winter break." 

"Oh. You're going somewhere?" Dean asks, sounding disappointed, and Sam huffs, smiling.

"Where the hell would I go?" he asks and shakes his head. "Housing closes down over break. I got a motel room."

"They kick you out over break?" Dean asks indignantly.

Sam laughs softly. "Yeah," he says. "But it's fine. I found a cheap motel a while ago, so I'm all set. You, uh, can stay there with me if you can stay in town for a bit."

"Yeah. I am. I mean, I can. For a while. Over the holidays, if you want me here," Dean says, clearing his throat. He's nervous, and somehow that makes Sam feel a little more calm.

"Dad's okay with that?"

Dean glances at him, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows and then turns his attention back to the road. "Can we maybe not talk about Dad right now, Sam?" he asks.

"Right," Sam says and Dean looks a little sheepish.

"Sorry, it's just… weird," he admits.

"No, you're right, it is," Sam agrees and then falls silent, not really sure what they can talk about instead. Other than the most obvious thing, but Sam wants to wait for Dean to bring it up, because he isn't sure if Dean is ready to talk about it and he doesn't want this to blow up in his face. Not when Dean just told him he wants to spend the holidays with him and that's more than Sam imagined. A few months ago, he wasn't even sure he'd ever see Dean again.

Dean seems to be happy with the silence for now, not saying anything, just continues to drive until they leave the populated areas behind them and Dean pulls off onto the side of the road.

Sam waits. Dean turns to him, pauses, and then huffs, reaching for him. "Just fucking come here already," he says, and Sam doesn't need to be told twice. Dean curls his fist in Sam's hoodie, tugs him forward and Sam leans in.

Dean's mouth is soft and warm and he tastes like stale gum and bitter coffee, and Sam hums and licks into his mouth, moans when their tongues slide together for the first time. There aren't any fireworks, but it feels right, like coming home, like things finally slotting into place and that's so much better. It's a pretty damn perfect kiss and when they part, Sam only takes a second before he chases Dean's mouth for a second kiss, and then a third. Each one is deeper, a little dirtier, until they're both breathing hard and Dean has one hand tangled in Sam's hair, the fingers of his other hand pressing into Sam's jaw, angling his face just so.

They've both ended up scooting towards the middle of the bench seat, knees bumping together.

"Fuck," Dean breathes, and Sam grins because he doesn't sound unhappy, a little dazed.

Dean lets out a little growl and then he tugs Sam's face forward, back to his, and their mouths meet again, crash together as if they're both dying and only this can save them, hungry and needy and desperate.

"Crappier than a lot of places we’ve stayed, but by far not the crappiest," Dean says with a little grin when they put their bags down.

They stopped by campus to get Sam's bag and Sam called the motel and asked if he could check in a day early, because there was no way he was sleeping his dorm room with Brady when Dean was in town.

"Told you it was cheap," Sam says. "I can't exactly use fake credit cards anymore or hustle people all the time. My budget is kinda limited." 

"You need money?" Dean asks, grin fading as he looks at Sam. "You know I can give you some." 

"It's fine, Dean," Sam says fondly, because of course that's what Dean would take from the whole thing. He sits down on the bed, bounces a little and frowns at how hard the mattress is. "At least the bed is bigger than the one in my dorm room."

"And what could we possibly do with that big bed, huh, Sammy?" Dean asks, wiggling his eyebrows. There's some false bravado there, but Sam's okay with that, because they'll get comfortable with this eventually.

He grins. "Sure we can think of something." 

"I can think of lots of things," Dean agrees and walks over. He puts one knee on either side of Sam's hips, straddling him and taking his face in his hands to kiss Sam. Kiss him all slow and deep, slides his hands back into Sam's hair. Sam wraps his own arms around Dean, fingers brushing over his ass and Dean makes an encouraging noise.

Before long, they're sprawled out on the bed, Dean between Sam's splayed legs, and they continue to share kisses that gradually get more insistent, though their touches stay innocent, neither of them attempting to take it further.

Sam's phone buzzes in his pocket and Dean breaks the kiss, laughing as he meets Sam's eyes, and then just dives in for another kiss. Sam's phone buzzes again. And again.

Dean finally pulls back for good, pushing himself up and looking down at Sam. "Not that the vibrations don't feel kinda good," he teases. "But I think someone is trying to talk to you."

Sam sighs and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his jeans as Dean rolls off him and settles down next to him.

Sam has a missed call from Brady and a message from Jess, reminding him that they're going out tonight. He flips his phone shut again, tossing it onto the mattress next to him, and rolls onto his side to face Dean. Dean quirks up one eyebrow in silent question.

"Just my friends," Sam says. "They wanna go out tonight, celebrate finals being over before they all go home for Christmas.." 

"Okay," Dean says. "You should go."

"You just got here," Sam argues.

"You shouldn't ditch your friends for me," Dean says, and Sam _knows_ he doesn't really mean it. He wants to, maybe, knows that's probably what he should say. But Dean's a possessive bastard and he's never understood why Sam even wanted friends to begin with, why he'd care about anyone but his family. And there's a part of Sam, a pretty damn big one, that likes that. Especially now that he knows Dean feels the same way, that he doesn't have to fight this anymore and try to distance himself from Dean, Sam wants to be the center of Dean's attention and have Dean demand to be the center of his too.

"I don't get to see you nearly as often as I see them," Sam says. "And if I get to choose between spending time with you and them, I'm choosing you." 

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam can tell he's pretty pleased with that.

"Unless you want to come along," Sam adds.

"You want me to go out with you and your friends?" Dean says, a little mockingly. As if Sam suggested Dean should come hang out with a bunch of kids.

"I guess? Maybe. I don't know," Sam admits and rolls onto his back with a groan, because introducing Dean to his friends? The thought is scary, mostly because there are so many ways they could slip up.

"Wow, way to make me feel wanted," Dean snarks.

"It's not like that," Sam says, reaching for Dean and curling his hand around his wrist, to keep him there with him even though Dean hasn't made a move to leave. "It's just… they don't know you're my brother."

"What? You didn't tell them about me?" Dean says, and he sounds genuinely hurt though he's trying not to show it.

"Of course I did, but..." Sam says. "Look, I was talking to my friend Jess after a party one night and there was a bit of an issue, but anyway, I mentioned that there was a guy I had feelings for and your name slipped out. And I couldn't really go 'oh yeah, my brother's name is Dean, too, funny that' after that. So now she thinks Dean is the guy I have crush on, not my brother, so you can't tell her." 

"So what did you tell them my name was?" 

Sam shrugs. "Nothing. Just called you my brother when I mentioned you," he says. "I don't… really talk about you and Dad all that much." 

"Right," Dean says slowly.

"Dean, c'mon, does that really surprise you? How can I tell anyone anything about my life and not make it sound weird? It's just easier not to say anything," Sam explains. "I think they just think we're not on good terms." 

"So they think I'm asshole," Dean concludes. "A nameless asshole." 

"I never said you were an asshole," Sam says exasperatedly. And it's true; he hasn't said a bad word about Dean. But he knows his friends have drawn their own conclusion as to why he barely talks about his family and he's pretty sure at least Jess assumes it has something to do with his sexuality. She hasn't outright asked him, but she's asked a few vague questions. Sam should have probably squashed that notion, but he doesn't really know how to explain why he rarely talks about Dean. And there's just no good way to casually slip a "Hey, by the way, that brother I never talk about? He's not homophobic," into a conversation.

"Might as well," Dean mumbles. "So what _did_ you tell them?"

Sam shrugs. "Basic story we told everyone at every school we went to. That dad is in the military and we moved a lot, not much else." 

"And how'd you meet _Dean_?" 

Sam flushes. "Just… a family friend who I've known all my life," he says. "It was the closest thing to the truth. And I didn't tell anyone but Jess about it." 

"Okay. But if anyone mentions _your brother_ I'm telling them he's awesome. And I'm making up a great name," Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes at that. "Fine," he says. "So, I guess we're going?" 

"Yeah," Dean says and shrugs. "Why not? Gotta make sure you're hanging out with people I approve of while I'm not here."

"Geez, yeah, I shouldn't be trusted to choose my own friends." 

"Sammy, you'd befriend anyone. Gotta make sure you're properly taken care of," Dean says, and there's no teasing. No mocking.

Sam gives him a small smile. "You know you're an idiot, right?" he says and leans in, kissing Dean before he can retort.

"This place is kinda dingy," Dean says, sounding happy as they step into the bar.

Sam tosses him a grin and then leans in. "Classy places tend to look at IDs a little more closely," he says. "And not everyone has a fake one as good as mine."

"Atta boy," Dean says, clapping Sam on the shoulder. And then he leaves his hand there. "So where are your little friends?" 

Sam prods him with his elbow and then glances around until he sees Jess's blonde curls. They've managed to snag a table, tucked away towards the back of the bar. "Over there," he says. "Behave."

"Me? When do I ever not?" Dean asks innocently.

"Always?" Sam says and snorts. Dean smirks and his hand slips a little more towards the center of Sam's back, giving him a small push. Sam heads towards his friends then, but Dean's hand never quite leaves him.

Brady is the first one to spot them, lifting his hand as if Sam hasn't seen them yet and isn't already heading towards the table. Some of the others look at them then, too, smiling or waving in greeting. But Sam notices how some of their glances flit towards Dean, sees the curiosity and interest there, and Jess arches an eyebrow at him not so subtly.

"Hey everyone," Sam greets, slaps the hand Brady holds out for him and gives Jess and Becky a hug. Chris and Aiden, two of Brady's friends who Sam wouldn't quite call friends yet, nod hello at him.

"Guys, this is Dean," Sam says, waving his hand at Dean.

"Dean," Jess exclaims and then tries to cover it with a cough. "I mean, hi. Dean."

"Hi," Dean replies, giving Jess a flirty smile and Sam knows this is what Dean does, but it still irks him a little. Trying not to let it get to him, Sam quickly introduces everyone else, putting on a smile. 

Dean and he didn't really talk about how they'd play this much. They had a brief discussion of Sam introducing him as his brother but simply using a different name, but Dean had seemed okay with the idea of being his friend and Sam is happy not to have to explain why they aren't, in fact, on bad terms after all.

"I'll get us a beer," Dean offers when introductions are over, looking around at the full glasses and bottles on the table.

"So, _that's_ Dean, huh?" Jess asks, once Dean is out of earshot. "I mean, damn. I get it now." 

"Get what?" Becky asks, while Sam flushes and ducks his head.

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"Wait," Brady says. "Is that the dude who you spent the weekend with not too long ago?"

"You spent the weekend with Dean?" Jess asks.

Sam groans. "He just visited for a couple of days," he says. "Nothing happened." 

Brady snorts. "Right," he says. 

"I didn't know," Becky starts, and then seems to stop herself, looking a little sheepish. "I never would have guessed, Winchester. I shouldn't have assumed, huh?"

"Can you all stop?" Sam complains, but he's a little pleased that his friends didn't take one look at Dean and mock Sam for how out of league Dean is. Because he wouldn't have blamed them. He also notices that Chris and Aidan have been pretty quiet, looking a little uncomfortable, but he doesn't really care much.

Dean comes back with their beers and he sits down next to Sam, casually resting his arm around the back of Sam's chair and grins a little. "Did I miss anything exciting?" he teases.

"Nope," Sam says firmly, giving the others a pointed look.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. It's a little astonishing how well Dean seems to fit in—he's always had an easy time talking to strangers and he's in his element in a bar with pretty college girls, but even when they all start talking about college, Dean doesn't seem to get bored with them.

"So what is it you do?" Jess asks him when there's a short lull in the conversation.

"I work in security," Dean lies smoothly.

"So, a bouncer? Bodyguard?" Aidan asks, and he's got a bit off a snooty tone, like that's something to turn your nose up at. Sam grits his teeth.

Dean looks at Aidan calmly. "Nah, it's a bit more complicated than that. I'm not really at liberty to discuss details, though," he says, and Sam notes that Brady looks a little impressed. He's probably already coming up with wild theories about Dean being a secret agent or spy, and well, it's not like what Dean does is any less outrageous. Sam gives Brady a smug little look.

"And you decided to visit Sam for a day?" Jess asks. "I mean, he's going home tomorrow. You came out here just for a few hours of hanging out?" 

Dean shrugs. "I was in the area," he says. "Plus, I don't get to see Sammy as much as I want. Gotta get some time together in where I can, even if it's just a few hours." 

And yeah, he's laying it on thick, but man, it's working—on Sam's friends _and_ Sam.

When Sam suggests they should head out a couple of hours later, Jess, Becky and Brady share grins and Jess coughs pointedly.

"You two have fun." 

"You're not coming back the dorms tonight then, Sam?" Brady teases. 

Sam glares at him. "No," he mutters. Dean just grins, looking all kinds of smug.

"You know they'll think we're leaving to go hook up, right?" Sam tells him once they're outside.

"Hmm," Dean hums, not looking bothered. "Aren't we?"

The words leave Sam momentarily speechless and he feels his cheeks grow hot. Sam assumed Dean wouldn't be comfortable with other people knowing about them and he didn't think they'd be moving forward this quickly. After how reluctant Dean was at first, Sam figured they'd be taking things slow; hell, he still expects Dean to freak out any moment.

Dean clears his throat. "Sorry. Too fast?" he says.

"No. No," Sam quickly says, realizing Dean must have taken his silence the wrong way. "Uh, if you're cool with… all of this." 

Dean shrugs. "We already crossed the line, so, you know…" he trails off, shrugging. Sam can tell he's not feeling like talking about this, doesn't want to have a big heart to heart—he never does—and for once Sam is okay with that. He finally has this, which is beyond anything he ever dared to imagine.

"Yeah," he agrees and ducks his head, grinning a little.

Dean knocks his shoulder against Sam and grins back. "Let's go back to the motel, huh?" 

Sam can only nod.

They get into the car and Dean turns the radio on once they're on the road, but keeps the volume low.

"So. My friends got your stamp of approval?" Sam says, tone light, just for something to say.

Dean hums. "They seemed okay," he says. "Passed all the tests so far." 

"All the…" Sam echoes and then groans. "What did you do?" 

"What?" Dean asks. "Just a little salt and holy water in their drinks. You really think I wouldn't?"

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean, but he honestly kind of _did_ expect it. "You know I already did that months ago, right? I'm not an idiot." 

"Doesn't hurt to double-check," Dean says and gives him a little grin, and Sam can't even argue with that.

"Want a beer?" Dean asks once they've finished laying down salt lines.

"What? Need some liquid courage?" Sam teases, but he wouldn't really blame Dean. He's feeling a little nervous, too.

Dean gets that look on his face, the one he gets when he feels like someone is challenging him, all determination and cockiness. He crosses the distance between them and, without another word, curls his hand in Sam's shirt and tugs, leaning up at the same time. Sam grunts in surprise, right before their lips meet, but then he melts into it.

Dean is a great kisser. Sam has always known that, has watched him with far too many girls—quietly seething with jealousy—and he knows how much they enjoyed it; had overheard more than one girl brag about being with Dean at school, too.

Dean's lips are soft, his kisses firm without being pushy, and he takes his time. Kisses Sam until Sam feels breathless with it and then he coaxes Sam's lips open and licks his way into Sam's mouth.

His hands curve around Sam's waist before sliding around him, and he hums gently as he moves one hand down to palm Sam's ass, worming the other one under the hem of Sam's shirt.

"Dean," Sam groans, and Dean pulls away with a quiet pop.

"What do you want, Sammy?"

There are so many things Sam wants, _everything_. And he's allowed to ask for them now, and that alone gets his pulse racing. "Bed," he manages, already pulling Dean back into a kiss, one that's a little more needy, a little more messy. Dean kisses him back and starts walking Sam backwards towards the bed, hand rucking Sam's shirt up.

When Sam feels his legs hit the bed frame, he pulls back and reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head quickly.

Dean smirks a little and mirrors him, taking a step back before undoing his jeans. They're down to their boxer-briefs in no time.

Dean follows Sam down onto the bed, nudging Sam's legs apart to slide between them. He holds himself up on his hands, looks down at Sam with dark, serious eyes. "You ever done this before with a guy?" he asks.

Sam licks his lips and shakes his head. "Not this," he says. "Messed around with a guy at a party once."

"Messed around?"

Sam flushes a little. "He sucked me off," he says. "Have you?"

Dean grins a little, nods.

"Wait, really?" 

"Yeah. A couple of times," he says. He leans down, kisses Sam's jaw, the corner of his mouth, murmurs, "Let me take care of you."

"Y—yeah. Okay," Sam says, angling his face to catch Dean's mouth in a kiss, but then lets Dean take control of the kiss.

He moans, hands flying to Dean's waist, when Dean finally rolls his hips down against Sam's. Even through the layers of their underwear, the touch is electrifying. Dean is hard, feeling big and firm against Sam, pressing against him. Sam arches up against him, feels like he's already spinning out of control even though they've barely done anything.

But this is Dean. Dean, who is on top of him, his familiar weight pinning Sam down, rocking against him. Dean, who is hard and almost naked and he drives Sam wild.

Dean breaks the kiss, starts sucking kisses along Sam's jaw and slowly working his way down. Sam gasps out his name when Dean nips at his throat.

"Shh, I got you," Dean murmurs. He smoothing his hands up Sam's sides, palms broad and calloused, and then back down. His fingers snag on the waistband of Sam's boxer-briefs and he pauses before giving them a small tug.

"Yeah," Sam answers Dean's silent question, and he sounds so breathless, so wanton. Dean makes an appreciative noise and starts pulling Sam's underwear off. He helps Sam out of them, sitting back on his haunches to strip them off and toss them side.

"Look at you, Sammy," he murmurs, eyes roaming over Sam's naked body, getting Sam all hot and flustered, torn between wanting to shield himself and letting Dean take his fill, see everything.

"God, drive me fucking crazy," Dean mutters, curves his hands around Sam's knees and then smoothing his hands up to his hips. He leans down, kisses a path up the inside of Sam's thigh, and Sam curses at how fucking good it feels. 

Dean stops before he can get anywhere near Sam's cock and gives him a wicked little grin.

"Not yet," he says and squeezes Sam's hips. He moves up, kisses Sam's stomach, chin bumping against Sam's cock, laying against his belly, and making him hiss.

"Dean. Come on," Sam manages, shifting under him.

Dean laughs against his stomach, the fucking tease, but he seems to take pity on Sam. He curls his hand around the base of Sam's cock and slowly moves it up and down a few times. "This what you want?"

Sam whines, letting his legs fall open wider and planting his feet on the mattress to thrust up. "Dean." 

"Or do you want my mouth?"

" _Shit_ , yes," Sam grunts, and then watches with wide eyes as Dean lowers his head. He licks over the crown of Sam's cock, and Sam swears he's seeing stars.

Dean opens his mouth around Sam's cock, sucking the head into his mouth, all wet and hot, and Sam keens. Dean slowly takes him in deeper, hand stroking Sam at the same time.

"Fuck, _Dean_. Fuck, your mouth," Sam babbles, trying hard not to thrust up, as Dean starts bobbing up and down. And then Dean hums around him and Sam knows it's going to be over embarrassingly quickly, because what Dean is doing feels almost too good.

Sam comes with a cry, not two minutes later, his body shuddering as Dean works him through the orgasm and then licks him clean with a smug little grin.

"Better than the dude at the party?" he asks teasingly, his voice a little rough. 

"Better than anything else has ever been," Sam mumbles, and tugs at Dean to get him to move up so he can kiss him.

He returns the favor once he's caught his breath, his attempt at a blowjob much sloppier, but Dean doesn't seem to mind, fingers twisted in Sam's hair as he slurs how "fucking amazing" Sam is.

"These cookies are bad," Sam says.

"Always whining," Dean mutters, but his eyes are crinkled up in amusement. "Little bitch." 

"Jerk," Sam replies automatically and leans past Dean to grab the chocolate bar off the nightstand.

"You're blocking the view," Dean says, giving Sam a little push. 

Sam gets his hands around the chocolate and sits up straight again, grinning. "You've seen this movie a million times," he points out, glancing at Bruce Willis on the screen before turning his attention back to the chocolate. They bought a bunch of cheap Christmas snacks, whiskey and beer.

It's a good Christmas, better than some of the others Sam remembers. And if Dean hadn't come to Palo Alto, Sam would have just spent the holidays studying and watching TV, so he really can't complain.

Sam rips the packaging of the chocolate open, breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth. "It's pretty good." 

Dean gives him a dubious look. "What happened to being Mr. Healthy?" 

"It's Christmas," Sam says and shrugs.

"Unhealthy food, whiskey, sex," Dean says, tsking. "You're not the good boy I thought you were, Sammy." 

"Funny, this morning you were saying I was a very good boy," Sam retorts.

Dean's eyes darken a little, lips parted before he grabs Sam and pulls him into a kiss.

The rest of the movie is forgotten, but that's okay. They both know it by heart anyway.

Dean is checking his phone when Sam comes out of the bathroom that night, jaw tensed and mouth pulled down into a frown.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks.

Dean looks up and puts the phone down. "Sure. Why not?" he asks, voice strained.

Sam sighs. "Dad?"

Dean pulls a face. "I don't really want to talk about it, Sammy." 

"Okay," Sam says. "Do you have to leave?"

"No," Dean says and runs a hand over his face. "Can we just go to bed now?" 

"Yeah, okay," Sam agrees reluctantly.

Dean gives him a small, strained smile and they slide under the covers, Dean taking the right side closer to the door. Once they're settled in, Sam turns to face Dean. 

"Does he know you're here?"

Dean groans softly. "Yeah," he says.

Sam gives a small nod and then slides his arm around Dean, shifting closer to kiss Dean's t-shirt covered shoulder. "You don't have to tell me what's been going on between you two. But, you know, if you want to, I'm here."

"Nothing's going on with us, Sam," Dean says.

"Okay," Sam says agreeably. "Dean?" 

"Hmm."

Sam shuffles even closer. "Merry Christmas," he murmurs. "And thanks for coming to stay with me over the holidays." 

"Sure, Sammy," Dean mumbles and slides his own arm around Sam. 

The days with Dean pass too quickly and it's only when he has to leave, a few days after New Years, that Sam realizes how used he has gotten to spending 24/7 with Dean again and how much he's dreading being without him again.

He wants to ask, _beg_ , Dean to stay, but he knows he can't. Knows he'd just set himself up for rejection.

"Don't stay gone for too long," he says instead.

Dean closes the trunk of the Impala and nods. He's been pretty quiet all morning, not his usual loud, obnoxious self. "You be good," he says. "Be safe, okay?"

"Of course," Sam says and gives Dean a weak smile. "You too. Be careful."

"Fuck, Sam," Dean murmurs and cups Sam's face, pulling him into a kiss before Sam can say anything else.

"You should come out to a party with me tonight," Brady says, a week after school started up again.

"It's Wednesday," Sam points out, rolling his eyes and not looking up from his text book.

"Come on, live a little," Brady cajoles. "You can't just stay in all day and mope." 

"I'm not moping." 

"Pretty sure if you looked up moping, there'd be a picture of you right next to it," Brady says. "Come on. Just a few drinks." 

"I have homework to do," Sam retorts, though that's mostly a lie. He's caught up on everything he needs to do and he's started reading ahead, just to have something to do. He sighs. "And Dean might call." 

"I'm glad you found yourself a boyfriend," Brady starts, "but man, you stopped being fun." 

"Yeah, 'cause I was out there partying all night long before," Sam snarks. 

"Fine. You've never been fun," Brady agrees and heads for the closet, pulling out a few clothes. "I'm going out and getting laid." 

"What happened to your girlfriend?" Sam asks, watching him curiously. 

"Didn't work out," Brady says with a shrug that's far too casual. He sniffs at a shirt, makes a face, and then grabs another one. 

"Sorry, man," Sam says.

"I'm over it," Brady replies. "I just want a drink and to not sit here and watch you get all mushy the moment your phone rings."

"I don't," Sam says, flushing a little. He and Dean are really not that bad, they mostly talk about Sam's classes and whatever Dean is up to, but Sam can't deny that the phone calls have pretty much become the highlight of his days.

Brady sighs. "You do. But it's okay, I get it," he says. "I'll talk one of the guys into going out."

"Have fun," Sam offers. 

"You, too," Brady says and then gives Sam a lewd look. "Put a sock on the door if Dean calls and you two do the nasty over the phone." 

Sam rolls his eyes.

It's late by the time Dean calls. Sam called him earlier but nobody picked up, and he's on the verge of nodding off when his phone rings. 

"Hey," he answers, pulling the comforter up a little higher. "I was starting to think I wouldn't hear from you anymore today." 

"Sorry. Working a hunt," Dean says, sounding a little tense.

"Are you okay?" 

"I got a little banged up. It's nothing," Dean mutters. "How's school?" 

"Fine," Sam says dismissively. "How bad is it?" 

"Just a few bruises and stuff. Nothing a few painkillers can't fix," Dean replies. "I think I'm gonna crash soon and I'll be good as new tomorrow." 

"Is Dad with you?"

"Yeah. He went for a drink, I think," Dean says.

"Okay," Sam says, relief flooding him, because that means Dean really must be okay. "But he checked you out first, right?" 

"He did. I'm okay, Sammy, stop worrying," Dean says fondly. "Sorry if I'm not very entertaining tonight though." 

"It's okay," Sam assures. "I'm glad you called back." 

"Knew you'd worry if I didn't," Dean says and Sam hears some rustling. "Damn, I wish you were here, Sammy." 

"Yeah? Wish I could take care of you?"

"Well, I was thinking about something else, but sure," Dean murmurs teasingly. "You'd make a hot nurse." 

"Oh, shut up."

Dean laughs, the sound a little pained.

"Take those pills and go to bed, Dean," Sam says gently.

"I'm good." 

"We can talk tomorrow," Sam promises. "Just get some rest, okay? I was just about to go to bed anyway."

"Hmm, okay," Dean finally agrees.

_Better today and back on the road. Thanks, nurse Sammy_ , Dean texts the next morning.

 _I didn't do anything,_ Sam replies.

_Had a good dream about you though ;-)_

The words make heat curl in Sam's stomach and he nearly drops his phone, his cheeks flushing hot red.

_Jesus, Dean. I'm in class._

_Guess you don't want to hear the details then?_

Sam looks around and nobody is looking his way, but he's pretty sure anyone who did would know exactly what's going on. Exactly what kind of texts Sam is trying to read subtly, phone hidden under his desk.

 _No, jerk,_ he quickly texts back, even though he desperately wants to know. Wants to hear Dean tell him, share all the glorious details with him so Sam can picture it when he's alone in his room later.

__

__

__

Sam wakes up in a funk on the morning of Dean's birthday a week later. It's the first time they're not spending a birthday together and it shouldn't be a big deal. More than one birthday was all but forgotten or spent on the road or, worse, hunting down some monster. But Sam misses Dean a little bit more that day and he wishes Dean would just haul his ass back to California already.

He sends Dean a text before heading to class, just a quick happy birthday, and then calls Dean once his last class lets out.

"I bought a nice bottle of whiskey for you, but you gotta come here and get it," Sam teases him as he walks back to his dorm room, dodging a few people milling around.

"You're just trying to lure me to California."

"Damn, you saw right through my evil masterplan," Sam says mournfully.

"I'm smart, Sammy-boy," Dean says smugly. "And don't you dare touch my whiskey before I get there."

"Nah, you should be more worried about Brady finding it. But I hid it, don't worry," Sam says and nods at a guy from his floor as he enters the dorm building.

"He better not. I liked him, but not enough that I won't kill him for that," Dean warns jokingly. "So what are your big plans for my birthday night? You going to be boring and study?"

"Nah, I'm actually going out," Sam says.

"On a Thursday? You?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm not as boring as you always say," he mutters. "And anyway, it's Jess's birthday today as well. She'd kill me if I didn't go out with them."

"And here I thought today was my special day," Dean complains.

Sam grins. "Sorry. She's here, you're not, so she wins," he says. "What about you?"

"Hmm, think I'm going to go out as well. There's a bar here in town that looked pretty good," Dean says. "I think I'm gonna get some drinks, let loose a little, have some fun."

"Oh. That sounds great," Sam says stiltedly, his stomach doing a weird flip at the thought of Dean going out. Not that he ever expected Dean not to; he just never really thought about it until now.

He does now though. Thinks about Dean at some bar, having a few drinks, flirting with all the pretty girls there. Maybe some guys, too. And someone will end up asking Dean if he wants to head out, go back to their place or maybe just the back alley. Because someone always asks Dean. Of course they do.

He and Dean never said they couldn't hook up with other people. There are no rules and Dean can do what he wants. Who he wants. So tonight, while Dean is tipsy and having fun, he might say yes. He might go home with someone that isn't Sam.

Jess puts a shot glass down in front of Sam and grins. "Bottoms up," she says.

"Jess."

"Nope, it's my birthday, so you have to," she says and holds up her own shot glass. Sam sighs, but picks his up and downs it at the same time as she does, making a face as it burns down his throat.

Jess coughs. "I don't know how you can drink that with a straight face," she complains.

"Years and years of practice," Sam says, and when Jess gives him a slightly weird look, he amends, "My brother and I sometimes had a drink."

"The elusive brother again," Jess notes. "So, did the shot help cheer you up or are you just going to be glum all night?"

"I'm not glum."

"Sam," Jess sing-songs his name. "You look like someone ran over your dog."

Sam sighs.

"Wait. Nobody ran over your dog, right?" Jess says. "You don't have a dog, do you?"

"No," Sam says.

Jess slides onto the chair next to him, looking a little relieved and definitely a bit tipsy. "So. Uh, trouble in paradise?" she guesses.

Sam shrugs.

"Oh. _Oh._ Talk to me," Jess says. "It's my birthday; you're not allowed to be unhappy."

"You know, it's Dean's birthday today as well," Sam says, picking up his beer and taking a sip.

"You miss him." 

"Well, yes," Sam says. Because he does. He misses Dean pretty much all the time, every day, but it's something he's starting to get used to. Like breathing. There's this hole inside of him whenever Dean is not there, and part of him hopes it's the same for Dean and another part wishes Dean doesn't feel quite as miserable without him.

"Long distance kinda sucks, huh?" Jess says and makes a face.

"I guess," Sam says. "I'm not even sure…" 

"What?" 

"We never really talked about us. What we are," Sam says and groans. "God, if he'd hear me right now he'd just mock me endlessly. Or maybe leave and never come back." 

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to talk about where you're at," Jess says. 

"There is if you ask Dean," Sam tries to joke and sighs. "I don't want to push for too much. We only just started this thing and we don't see each other all that often. I can't ask him not to see other people; that wouldn't be fair. He shouldn't have to feel like he can't do whatever he wants, because he can. There are no rules." 

"You don't want him to see other people though," Jess points out.

"No," Sam admits.

Jess rolls her eyes. "This is why I'm glad I'm not seeing anyone. Men are fucking complicated," she says. "You want something, you tell him. You talk. That's how relationships work, Sam."

Maybe she's right. Sam wouldn't _really_ know, because he's never been in a relationship. But he thinks it's a bit more complicated when you're dating your brother who hates talking _and_ relationships.

"You've gone all weird on me, Sammy."

The words hang between them for a moment and Sam runs a hand over his face, draws his knees up against his chest.

"What?" he mutters, not wanting to admit that Dean is right. They've barely talked in the last few days since Dean's birthday.

Dean huffs. "Something's wrong and I can tell," he says. "You've just been off." 

"No, I haven't," Sam lies.

"Are you mad at me?" Dean says, blowing right past Sam's lie.

Sam tugs at the bottom of his jeans. With his knees drawn up like that, they've risen up well above his ankle, probably because they're barely long enough to begin with. Dean would tell him it's because he's a sasquatch if he could see him right now. 

"Of course not," Sam says.

Dean snorts humorless. "Sure?"

"I'm sure," Sam says, his tone exasperated now. He isn't mad at Dean; he has no right or reason to be mad at him after all.

"I just can't come visit you right now, Sam. Dad's been on my case and we got a couple of hunts lined up," Dean continues.

"Dean, it's fine. I know," Sam says. "Dad's on your case, huh?" 

"You know what he's like." 

"I do," Sam mutters. "Wasn't sure you did."

"Okay," Dean says slowly. "I'm hanging up now."

"Dean," Sam says, a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry." 

"I don't wanna fight with you right now, Sam," Dean says, sounding tired. "Call me when you're in a better mood."

And then he does hang up. Sam listens to the dial tone for a few long seconds, his stomach squirming.

Sam goes up to the roof and listens to Dean's last mixtape, feeling like an idiot. He's more frustrated with himself than Dean, but he doesn't know how to tell Dean that.

And it sucks that Dean isn't here, because talking to him on the phone is even more complicated than face to face. He doesn't know how to tell Dean about how he feels without making him think he's making demands, making rules that will probably just make Dean feel caged in and want out again.

When there's a knock on his door a few days later, Sam instantly knows who it is. Brady is still in class and Jess and Becky headed off for a trip out of town just a couple of hours ago. And he _knows_ that knock, firm and steady, a quick succession of _tap tap tap_.

Dean looks tired and beat-down, like he hasn't been getting much sleep lately, when Sam pulls the door open.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asks.

"You want me to not be here?" Dean replies, and he sounds serious. Like he really thinks Sam doesn't want him here, that he might send him away.

"Don't be stupid," Sam says and then steps forward, hauling Dean into a tight hug. He ducks his head down, burying his face in Dean's neck, and feels something in his chest unravel when Dean hugs him back.

"Gonna let me in then?" Dean mutters after a moment.

Sam steps back and nods, pulling Dean into the room. The moment the door is closed, Sam is on him again, kissing him because he needs to touch and he needs Dean to know that he's not mad at him, that he still wants this. There's a moment of hesitation, but then Dean kisses him back, relaxing against Sam.

Dean is the one to break the kiss and Sam tries to lean in for another, but Dean puts a hand on his chest.

"You done with classes for the day?" 

"Got one more, but I can skip it," Sam says. 

"Sam."

"It's no big deal. I never skip, so it's cool if I miss one class for once," Sam promises. "Are you staying the night?" 

"I can get a motel room," Dean says. 

"So you are staying?" Sam asks hopefully.

"I was planning to, if you're cool with that, yeah." 

"That's good," Sam says and smiles tentatively.

"Yeah?" Dean asks. "'Cause I wasn't really sure."

"Dean. I want you here. I always want you here," Sam says and steps closer again, because the few inches of space between them suddenly feel like too much. "I'm sorry."

"I can't do this, Sam." Dean's voice is rough, his expression somewhere between pleading and desperate. "I need my head in the game when I'm out there, and I can't do that when you get like this and I don't know what the hell is wrong and what I did this time and how I can fix it."

"You didn't do anything," Sam assures him and then repeats, more pleadingly this time, "I'm sorry."

Dean makes a frustrated noise and runs a hand over his face. "Jesus, Sammy, you fuck me up so much."

"I don't mean to," Sam offers helplessly. "You gotta know that, Dean."

"You go all hot and cold on me and I have no idea why," Dean continues. "Sam, you know I suck at this stuff. So I need you to not suck at it, too, okay? Someone needs to be good at this." 

"Yeah, okay," Sam says and sighs. He steps back and sinks down onto his bed.

"Will you fucking talk to me now then?" Dean demands and sits down next to him. He's still wearing his boots and a leather jacket, looking like he's ready to bolt if things go south even if he already said he'd stay. And Sam needs to him to stay. Needs them to be okay again.

He gives Dean a small, weak smile. "It's stupid," he admits. "I just… you said you were going out on your birthday. And I got jealous. And I'm trying not to make demands or anything, but yeah. I hated thinking about you being with someone else."

"Sam," Dean says, his voice rough. "I had a few beers, I played pool. And then I went back to the motel and jerked off thinking about you."

He doesn't say " _You're an idiot, Sam_ ", but Sam hears the words loud and clear.

"Oh."

"I'm not good at this. But I'm trying, okay?" Dean says. "I wouldn't be doing this with you if I wasn't all in."

"So. I'm a moron, huh?" Sam asks.

"Well, at least you're kind of stupid for a college boy," Dean says and then hooks his arm around Sam's neck, pulling him in against him. "I should be kicking your ass, you know. You know how worried I have been? The stuff I've come up with in my head? Jesus, Sammy."

"I'd let you kick my ass right now," Sam offers and ducks out of Dean's hold, but when Dean pulls him right back in, Sam smiles and lets himself be closed in, lets Dean drag him into a kiss.

Whiskey is warming Sam's stomach, body pressed tightly against Dean's so they both fit on his bed, when Brady comes in. He takes one look at them, raising his eyebrows.

"Guess I'll be sleeping somewhere else tonight," he says dryly.

"No. It's fine," Sam says with a little laugh.

"Nah, I think Brady is right. He should sleep somewhere else tonight," Dean says firmly and when Sam glances at him he sees him giving Brady a pointed look.

Brady grins and nods, dropping his backpack on the floor. "Yup, leaving," he announces. "Sam, text me when it's cool for me to come back."

"Brady," Sam tries, but Brady waves at him over his shoulder and leaves. "Jesus, that was rude, Dean." 

"I have plans for you tonight," Dean murmurs, leaning in and nuzzling Sam's jaw. "He can deal."

"We could have gotten a motel room," Sam argues, as he tips his head to the side.

Dean gives him a grin that's so dirty Sam feels heat pool in his belly. "Not for this. You deserve better than a dirty motel room."

"Oh," Sam says. "You mean…?"

"Unless you don't want to?"

"No," Sam quickly says. "I do. Really?"

"Hmm," Dean hums, and tugs Sam close and kisses him, fingers curled into Sam's shirt. He tastes like whiskey and he smells like Dean, like too many hours on the road and some cheap aftershave and even cheaper laundry detergent.

Sam melts into him.

Sam isn't really sure what he expected sex with a guy to be like. Even his experiences with girls are pretty limited, because they never stayed anywhere long enough to really get close to someone and even when he did, they'd usually been back on the road a few weeks later.

He's thought about it, though, has pictured it countless times in his head. But it doesn't come close to reality.

It's awkward and a bit painful and entirely fucking wonderful.

Dean is patient, careful, whereas Sam is too keyed-up, needy and trying to push for more, for faster, _now_. Dean isn't allowing Sam to set the pace this time though and Sam is glad for it in the end.

Dean takes his time, kissing Sam thoroughly as they undress, exploring Sam's body with his mouth and hands as they loose article after article of clothing. He wraps his lips around Sam's dick, slides his mouth down, toys with Sam until he has Sam on the verge of coming.

Only then does he retrieve the lube from the nightstand, where Sam hid it weeks ago.

Sam is glad for Dean's mouth around his cock after that. The slick fingers rubbing over his hole feel amazing and Sam is pretty sure he's going to come just like that, but then Dean starts pushing one finger into him. It's not _bad,_ but it's a bit more intrusive than Sam anticipated and he feels some of his arousal waning. Sam isn't seeing stars, not even sparks, not at first at least.

The second finger burns a little and Sam tries to relax, like Dean tells him.

"It's okay," Dean murmurs, "It's part of it, Sammy, but it'll get better. I promise."

Sam trusts Dean, completely, and so he nods, breathes, and tries not to clench up. And then Dean brushes against something inside of him and there are definitely sparks then, making Sam gasp quietly and curl his fingers in the sheets.

It gets better after that, even though the third finger hurts a bit more. Sam knew it would hurt though, because he didn't go into this blind, and the way it feels when Dean rubs over his prostate far outweighs the pain.

When Sam tells Dean he's ready, pleads quietly for "now, please Dean, come on", Dean just hums and kisses the inside of Sam's thigh, then the jut of his hip bone, before wrapping his lips around the head of Sam's dick again while he keeps working him open. He doesn't stop until any remaining tension has left Sam and he's taking his fingers easily, and not even the fourth finger Dean nudges against his rim without pressing in makes him tense up. He's feeling too damn good, rocking down on Dean's fingers, moaning each time Dean hits the right spot.

Dean's cock is an entirely different story though.

Sam rolls over and gets up onto his hands and knees, because Dean insists, and Sam takes a deep breath and tries to stay relaxed when he feels Dean's cock slide between his cheeks and nudge against his hole. The first real pressure makes him tense up though, the reaction immediate, and Dean rubs his hip soothingly.

"Relax, Sammy," he murmurs. "I got you. Just breathe and try to push down, okay?"

"Y—yeah," Sam manages, and then Dean starts pushing forward. It _hurts_ and Sam has had a lot worse, but the pain still makes him clench up again and Dean halts.

"It's okay. It's okay, Sam," he says, his voice strained, and Sam slowly feels the muscles loosen up again, allowing Dean to keep going.

Dean works himself in inch by inch, stopping to give Sam time to adjust, to relax every so often, talking Sam through it with quiet words of encouragement and affection.

Sam feels stretched wide, split open around Dean, when Dean finally bottoms out. He's sweaty and breathless and he's only half-hard now, but the fact that Dean is inside of him, buried deep, still makes his stomach flutter.

"You feel so fucking good, Sammy," Dean says, his voice all ragged. And Sam _loves_ that. Loves that he is making Dean feel good, that he is responsible for making Dean sound so breathless and turned on.

Dean leans over him, smears a kiss to the back of Sam's neck, and the movement makes him shift inside of Sam. Sam moans, feeling a helpless wave of arousal flood him, because he is feeling _Dean_ inside of him and while it might burn, might be almost too much, Dean is big and thick and Sam isn't sure he'll ever not feel him. And he knows that's a feeling he will never be able to get enough of.

Dean reaches around him then, wraps one hand around Sam's cock and strokes him slowly. He starts moving a few moments later, barely rocking in and out of Sam at first, before he starts pulling out a bit more, sinking back in slowly.

"Okay?" he asks, and he sounds so choked. Sam's heart is racing in his chest.

"Yeah," he says. The burn is fading, along with the weirdness, with each thrust and then Dean groans and lets go of Sam's cock, grabbing Sam by the hips with both hands instead.

"Touch yourself, Sammy," he encourages breathlessly, and he drives into Sam a little harder, a little deeper. And this time there's a sudden spark of pleasure so strong, so unexpected, that a loud moan tumbles from Sam's mouth.

"Dean," he gasps, and Dean echoes his moan and repeats the movement, once, twice, until he's settled on a steady rhythm, and it's good now. It's _good_. Dean keeps dragging against his prostate, hot and hard, and the stretch is replaced by a weird, wonderful sense of fullness that feels better with each passing second.

Sam forgets all about touching himself, curling his hands in the pillow and lowering his shoulders to arch back, push back for more. The pleasure is different than any other kind Sam has felt before and he's feeling helpless with it, unable to do anything but rock back onto Dean and let moans and gasps spill from his parted lips.

Dean comes first, with a deep moan of Sam's name, his hips stuttering. He leans over Sam and his mouth finds Sam's neck, his hand Sam's cock, and it only takes a few strokes, Dean hot and heavy on top of him, dick buried deep inside of Sam, and Sam spills all over Dean's hand with a small cry.

A few weeks later Dean texts Sam a picture of a book on folklore. It's thick and leatherbound, looking old.

_You'd love this. There's some pretty cool shit in here._

_Where are you?,_ Sam texts.

_Bobby's._

It's unexpected and it makes Sam feel a pang deep inside of him, a flash of something akin to homesickness. He remembers days, sometimes weeks, spent at Bobby's and the place had never quite made it to _home_ , but they'd been more familiar with it than almost any other place in the world. The musty scent of books had always held a special place in Sam's heart, offered him comfort and tranquility, and the junkyard probably hadn't been the right place for kids, but it had felt like a playground to Sam, and he and Dean had spent hours exploring and playing games out there.

_You're at Bobby's? We haven't been there in forever_ , he types out and suddenly wishes he was there too. That he could bury himself in Bobby's books for hours, eat a home-cooked meal sitting at the old table in the kitchen and share the room with Dean that, though nobody had ever called it that, had always felt like theirs.

_Needed some help with research._

_Oh, okay. Is Dad with you?_

Sam has to wait for Dean's reply for a moment longer this time. He doubts his answer will be yes—Sam isn't quite sure what went down between their dad and Bobby, but they abruptly stopped going there the summer after Sam was eleven or twelve. He knows there'd been a fight; he and Dean had heard their raised voice in their bedroom, though they hadn't been able to make out what had been said. John had never shared any details, and as far as Sam knows he hasn't spoken to Bobby since at all.

Finally, Sam's phone chirps with an incoming text.

_Fuck no. But he's the one who had issues with Bobby, not us._

_Dean… seriously, you ever gonna tell me what's up with you and dad?_

Sam's phone rings a short moments later and he picks it up quickly. "Hey Dean," he murmurs.

"Nothing much to tell, Sam," Dean says, instead of a greeting. There's the sound of a door falling shut, followed by footsteps and then Dean sighs.

"No?" Sam prods. 

"No. It's just been different without you around," Dean says and laughs humorlessly. "Man, I think maybe you always fighting with Dad kinda stopped me and him from getting into it. I was always too busy trying to smooth things over between you two." 

"Sorry," Sam says and makes a face, even though Dean can't see him. 

"It's okay. And me and Dad… I mean, we're not nearly as bad as you and him. We just haven't been seeing eye to eye on a few things." 

"He doesn't like that you come spend time with me," Sam guesses. 

Dean sighs. "Sam. He wants you safe. He's glad I'm checking up on you every once in a while," he says. "He just doesn't think it needs to be more than a quick drive through the town." 

"I'm sorry things are difficult between you two because of me, Dean." 

"It's okay. He'll get over it," Dean says. "We're good. Just… need some time apart every once in a while." 

Sam hmms and slides down on his bed, sprawling out on top of it and making a couple of books scatter to the floor. He's glad Brady is still out so he can talk freely, doesn't have to pay attention to everything he says to Dean or find somewhere else to be.

"I don't really like that you're hunting alone so much," he admits, staring up at the ceiling. There's a spot right above him, one that Sam thinks looks like a twisted, screaming face if you squint just so. 

"I'm a big boy," Dean reassures him, his tone soft but amused. "And look, if I need backup, I'll call someone. Hence why I'm at Bobby's." 

"I can't believe you're there. We haven't seen him in years," Sam says wistfully. "How is he?" 

"Same old, same old," Dean says. "He was kinda surprised when I showed up without you."

"Man, I kinda miss him," Sam admits. "I always loved it when Dad dropped us off there for a while." 

"Hmm, good times," Dean agrees.

Sam sighs. "I miss you, too. A whole lot more." 

"I was just in California." 

"Yeah, well, I still miss you anyway," Sam replies in a snotty voice. "Deal with it."

"I'm sure I can find a case in your area. Maybe Bobby has something," Dean muses. "I gotta get on the road and wrap this case up first, but after that."

"Yeah?" 

"Give me a week or two," Dean says. "Fuck, I can't wait to get my hands on you again."

Sam's breath hitches and he drops his hand to his lap, palming his cock. It's soft, but he knows that can change quickly if he keeps touching himself while on the phone with Dean.

They've been doing that a lot lately and Sam has never felt this damn horny in his life.

"Dean," he groans now.

"Damn it. Not now; I'm outside on the porch," Dean mumbles, not sounding very happy about it. "I'll probably be back on the road tomorrow and I'll call you when I stop for the night, okay?" 

"Can't wait," Sam says, a little disappointed.

Sam stretches, the buzz of the orgasm still coursing through him, and then presses close to Dean. He hums.

"Someone's happy," Dean notes, sounding pleased.

"Hmm, yeah," Sam confirms and shifts his leg over Dean's. "How long can you stay?"

Dean sighs and turns onto his side, right into Sam. He cups Sam's face in one hand and draws him into a kiss. "A few days," he says. "There's a hunt a couple of hours away. Looks like just a simple salt and burn. I can drive there tomorrow, do some research, take care of it and then come back here."

Sam bites down on his lower lip, hesitating for a moment, before he suggests, "I could come, you know." 

"I can take care of it on my own," Dean says. "I've been handling hunts a lot more complicated than that by myself for a while now, Sammy." 

"It'd go faster if I came. You hate research anyway," Sam argues and he wants Dean to say yes, to let him tag along.

"You wanted out, Sam," Dean reminds him. He lets his hand slide down, palming Sam's neck before trailing down his back, his touch gentle and calm.

"I wanted to go to college," Sam corrects. "And I am. I can take a little weekend trip with you and help." 

"It's not a weekend trip," Dean counters, as if Sam doesn't know that. "Are you sure?"

Sam shrugs, and smiles when Dean reaches up, tugging his hair behind his ears. "Things are different now." 

"What does that mean?" 

"You and me," Sam says. "I thought I was really fucked up for the longest time, Dean." 

"We probably _are_ fucked up," Dean admits with a wry little grin, and Sam snorts.

"Yeah, okay. Probably," he agrees. "But now I don't care as long as you're fucked up with me. Before… I thought I could get over it if I got away. I thought it was better that way, that I needed to get some space between us. For both of us."

"Still not sure it wouldn't be better," Dean says, and the words are so painfully honest.

It hurts and it must show on Sam's face, because Dean presses a firm kiss to his mouth. He nudges Sam onto his back and settles down on top of him, cups Sam's face and kisses him again, all long and slow.

"Didn't say I was going to do anything about it," he murmurs. "Too fucking late for that."

He brushes his mouth down Sam's neck, biting at the curve of it. 

"Dean," Sam sighs and turns his head, giving Dean better access. "'M not done talking yet."

"Course you're not," Dean says and lifts his head.

"I was just thinking… maybe spring break," Sam says vaguely, and holds his breath.

"Spring break what?" 

"I got nothing to do over spring break," Sam explains, keeping his tone soft. Soothing, as if maybe that will sway Dean. "So, you know, maybe you could come pick me up. We could spend some time together."

Dean pulls back even further, propping himself up on his arms and looking down at Sam. "You mean a vacation together or hunting together?"

"Little bit of both?" Sam asks hesitantly.

Dean rolls off him and sits up, looking down at Sam with a frown. "You're fucking confusing, you know that?" he asks. "You wanted out, now you want back in." 

Sam sits up as well, scooting closer to Dean. "I know. I'm kind of confused myself," he says honestly and leans into Dean, unable to not touch, to not press in close.

"What does that mean, huh, Sammy?" Dean asks in a murmur and he puts his arms around Sam, hauling him in closer. 

"I don't want to drop out. I want this. I want a degree. But I want to be with you whenever I can as well," Sam says. "Beyond that, I have no fucking clue." 

Dean doesn't say anything for a while, looking deep in thought, and Sam knows he's mulling over his words. He sighs, nudges his nose against Dean's jaw and kisses his throat.

"Okay," Dean says. 

"Okay?" Sam asks, a little surprised.

Dean gives him a small smile. "We'll figure it out, Sammy," he says. "Right?"

"Yeah," Sam says and nods, lips stretching up into a smile. "And maybe this summer we can go see Bobby, huh? I wanna get my hands on that book." 

"Yeah, maybe," Dean says and tightens his arms around Sam, pulling him closer if that's even possible. "Whatever you want, Sammy." 

Sam sighs and lays down, pulling Dean back down onto the mattress with him. "Right now," he murmurs. "Just this. Is that okay?" 

"More than," Dean says soothingly. "More than, Sammy."

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/whispered_story)!


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